Perched on a dining
room chair, by the window,
she sits in wait.
The long, sleek tail
winding and twisting,
off the end
of her seat.
Her head rocks
to and fro watching
an invisible tennis
match. She paws
the pane and beats
a rhythm onto the glass,
as bugs stop
for a rest.
Behind her, reaching
across the room,
a blackness departs.
Stretched to the door
like a black hole,
her hazy
doppelganger
has her back.
10-28-2007


Comments: 43
Great poem.
Lita
thanks for sharing it!
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