Weekly Ritual
4 o’clock on a Sunday, shadows skate
on cinder block walls.
Calico cries crease and fold
the still evening air.
She pushes a cart, plastic wheels
grating warped concrete.
Dry dust stains the stones,
as she shuffles slippered feet,
silent as a snowy alley.
The cart parks on the corner of Hill and Nottingham.
She sets ceramic saucers on the wall
and fills them both with seventy-year-old
dexterity and homemade tuna salad.
The meows pour forth in a matted wave.
We all sip lemonade and smoke long
cigarettes from the porch as we watch
Miss Dowry’s Stray Cat Buffet.
Copyright © C.W. Bryan | Year Posted 2023
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment