It’s drizzling and the errant
cat wants back in,
the one who leaves home
for weeks at a time.
I never know when he goes out
if he’ll ever be back.
But here he is, bathing on the sofa,
your father’s birthday early in May.
The bougainvillea at the edge
of the deck has finally bloomed,
and the Texas privet beneath
the bedroom window.
I hear the faint cry of a small animal
and look out to see our other cat
chasing a rabbit, the back legs
of last night’s prey in the driveway
will probably keep me home all day.


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