by my right hand
holding this pen
sits my cat
whiskers brushing my knuckles
as I hold the pen
two paws folded
on the page eyes closed
purring so I will bring
him inside once again
when it gets cold
he gets up to check things out
moves to the railing
to the right
mother / son conversation
a mumble through sliding glass door
two days left of summer vacation
never a good thing
had seventeen of those feelings
only remember the last couple of them
school is a joke in two thousand eight
and for many years to come
a watchful eye on what’s going on
all around slightly above
where I hold the pen here
suddenly squinting as wind
brings my smoke over his head
a big stretch and a jump
to the floor
as if he got booted off
the table…
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