December 10,2003 Culture ¢ the other press ©

Poetry/Fiction/Essays/etc. :

 

you were on their doorstep
at ten p.m. barking

that the next time their cat
pisses in your flower garden
you will shoot it.

  
 

    
    
  

fuzzy slippers
would rant
the fuckin’ inconsiderate

ople. You are too sick

for this, you say, and open your
housecoat, exposing

your distended belly and the scar

where the cancer was cut out.

Almost fuckin’ opened it

when I threw that damned cat! you holler,
red face clashing with orange beard

and brilliant blue eyes.

and

 

They told how Aya

was hit by a car last night.

A friend of the neighbours,

they said. The cat was gone

for hours. You came along, sometime later,
tabby cat cradled in tattooed arms.

She had been lying on your doorstep,

leg broken, waiting for you

to come home. =
She always knew you

were a cat lover.

 

Barbara K. Adamski

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