Micro-cats.
The tiny male courtesy's to society's bleeding bosom.
The female? Chin-wagging idly against a cotton tree;
kitten calling the kettle black, pot's away with uncle Jack.
Instantaneously, we paddle tracks -
you, an iris magnet and me,
an evening rooster with a bluish face.
A magical feline chase.
Tuck me in.
And turn off the VCR screaming dog-eat-dog
because my whiskers quiver to any colony of cat.
Carpet litter of frowning kittens, tug north on my gentle mittens.
Big cats.
The homeless female rocks to-and-fro.
The male? Solitary hunter, cruelty spree,
capped and under-attired.
Screaming at the aristocrats
and preaching to a cluster of tiny-sprouting kittens.
