From the living room window
the park’s got a honeydew filter
and the cockies are early in
to shred some elm flowers.
The pear tree’s mostly in leaf
shadowed by the white confetti
of its previous glory and the little
crabapple droops with pink memories.
Milk’s nearly out and I cook porridge
a single hotplate resting on bare
water-proof ply. The stove gave up
just three months after Warranty.
It’s schooling from home and our
second full day of missing the cat.
The kitchen taps gleam in the stringers
from the sun’s early morning scaffolding
as it climbs up the sky. Outside
between pine fingers, I can see
the two blueberries in huge clay pots,
nodding flowers and the little grave.
I take my porridge mixed with seeds
and yoghurt and let the recliner
nurse my hips as I try to get on board
with the day’s schoolwork.
The little white dog looks askance
from near my toes. I click and he’s
up curling into my hips, soft
as whispers, flops his small
square nose onto my thigh
and sighs as if to say.
“Don’t worry, you great oaf.
I can be a cat for you.”
Written for Miz Quickly’s October 11 Prompt – “Monday”