This poem again

Some ask how could we bring a babe into this time
when the North Pole’s a puddle in the dark
but I ask: what will you do with your cat?

The indoor toms and queens; shall they be released?
When the splash pad’s parched and the fountain’s stripped
will you spend a ration for your familiar, or

shall you calculate their age, deem them roughly adult
and set them free? No, I know you like I know me.
We need to make eyes with someone helpless we can help.

~

The prompt was cats. We have two cats. Our neighbours have two cats. My sister and her husband, three doors down, have a cat. Ours will be the coziest settlement amidst the fallout.

Tim Hortons are safe space

 

It’s been dusk for days. Cancelling moods.

Both of us back-pedaling and spacing.

 

Tim’s? Sure. Eye contact shitty. Lineless,

we abrupt small-talk, indulge disproportionately. Here?

 

Here: One-sided TMI to a jangle of anecdotal gossip

and gossipy anecdotes, then finally the meat:

 

the crash of the candy machine, the no-reply email,

the time to watch more day games, and the dead pet.

 

Strangers innocuous as variations on the jelly donut.

The absence of sugar packets focuses the heart.