Monday, August 12, 2024

Last Legs

My old cat’s a fan of the television glow. 

Both are salt/pepper, missing reception,

making shadows in the hall. 

 

The snowy screen stares at the ceiling.

It’s a floor for her paws

when she perches there like a sphinx.

 

Daylight to night trails toward the wall

through the streaming atmosphere,

from the depths of fluorescent display.

 


BombFire Lit, November 2023

No comments:

Post a Comment