Two Sides of Poetry

The Cat *

Every day I walked past the house with the perfect grass.

Every day I walked past the house with the big tree and the home-made swing.

Every day I walked past the house with the barking dog.

Every day I stopped and stared at the house with the cat.

The Cat, a purring monster, lay sprawled on the grass.

The Cat, a midnight cloud, lay comfortably on the steps.

The Cat, a marble eyed emerald, lay cautious in the window.

The Cat, a lioness, stopped and stared at me.

Slowly, I'd place the small hand on the white fence.

Slowly, the Cat would saunter over.

Quickly, I'd run the hand along her smooth coat.

Quickly, the Cat would nudge her head along the hand.

The Old Woman, she would stand with her wrinkled skin.

The Old Woman, she would yell with her withering voice.

The Old Woman, she would glare with her cloudy eyes.

The Old Woman, she would rise with her new found will.

The Cat, sadly, would retreat.

The Cat, gloomily, would stop its rumbling purr.

I, sadly, would walk.

I, gloomily, would stop the hand in its gentle motions.

The Cat and I would see each other very soon.

The Cat and I would connect again.