my cat was cool
when the mist hung
with armfuls of little
dewdrops to her softness.
cool when her curling gray
tail moved to the rhythm,
as I washed dishes,
of my tinny radio’s
sounds, after dinner in the
cool of the evening.

my heart was soft
and hung on the clothesline
outside the kitchen window,
in the blue of the evening
after dinner to the sounds
of my tinny radio
as I washed dishes.
soft when leap,
kitty leap! don’t leave me
to flutter here, leap.

soft with the creak of
her yawn, the rumbling
vibrations of her purring
under my stroking
fingertips. her eyes glowed
like lime lanterns when I switched
the lamp off.

my cat was dead
as a doornail the evening
when she strolled about the
neighborhood with soft paws.
and was pinned to the front
of a whizzing van: a bumper-
sticker that rung up
at the price of a life.

and I never had a girl
with soft lips or warm
hands to keep me from the
evening chill as I washed
to my tinny radio
in the cool of the evening.
and I never will for my

cat chewed my heart
up thoroughly and swallowed it
when she snapped it off the
outside clothesline.
and when her feline lungs
yawned deeply and turned in
for the night, my soft heart
with a gentle stutter, sighed
to an unassuming halt.