just me and the cat

frightening our neighbors
who smell like grilled beef
and deodorant.

I, a dark lump of clay
hunched in leftover light,
the cat’s anxious eyes
two dots of bottomless brine.

I wonder what they think
each time the cat’s shadow
flits across my legs.

Nothing certain, I muse
as she nervously calls on
her husband
(who, by the way is
yelling at the kid.)

I don’t (by the way)
know how long it’s been
since that first hint of gray
crept above me

(the cat paces on,
darker and sharper
than before)

it is all closer to one
shadow.

(“Who needs shelter from the sun?”)

forget me,
forget me and the cat.
slinking and goosebumping
to where
her claws can’t get caught,

unafraid of a witness
to our backs.

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