small talk

Katishaw, fearless Abyssinian, uncoils:
in one bound she is on the centipede
—well, she is there:
staring wide eyed at the rhythmic
scurry away from her claws.

If she were a traffic cop at a scene
she would be demanding I.D.
but here, the only law she is laying down
is herself: she lounges alert, adjusts,
shuffles her hind quarters ready to leap:

any self-respecting mouse would
be petrified or gone.
But the centipede ruffles on
unruffled across the rug escaping
the kitten’s short—hey, a mite of dust!

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About riverwriter

Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else? wordcurrents is on Facebook: Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
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2 Responses to small talk

  1. danae mcC says:

    This is like a film, one frame after another so well drawn. “But the centipede ruffles on”. Perfect.


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