words

the lights in the parking lot
have been out for days,
and the bulb by the door blew
some time ago,
so here in the mostly dark
a young stray attempts to banter,
odd little vocalizations,
thin fur, lank,
bones visible,
she rubs against the chair longingly
and then retreats at my slightest movement.

the neighborhood cats
want nothing to do with her,
they hiss and riot and wander off,
but still she remains, begging for attention
as i pen these words
in the mostly dark.

she bends this way and that
and her angular bones push violently
against the delicate feline coat,
while nearby insects orbit unperturbed,
searching for the light,
certain it was here only days ago.

a chorus of housebound cats arises,
aware, curious, beleaguered
by the very existence
of this exotic, liberated,
one-eyed creature.

she is a sickly thing,
hungry for anything,
and like all feral beings
were i to bring her in
she would go mad with the concept of walls,
doors, the sadistic heart of a window,
so i finish drinking elsewhere
and leave her here to inheirit the mostly dark
from our little nighttime parking lot.

-S.C. Martinez