FERAL CAT

Evening bells echo as we write.
A white cat pines for love on the doorstep. 
The fan turns slowly in the room. We are writing.
He's singing kitty arias of loneliness on the stoop. 
Shall we let him in, or try to get through it?
Not my cat, Vito says. A stray. Nobody's pet.
It's Friday night. Parents are out playing. Not the cat.
Now he's moaning and hanging on the screen door. 
Arms splayed in cruciform. Forgive them, he yowls.
Neighbors are out on the randan, it's Friday night. 
Feral cat on our doorstep, pining for love, 
interrupts the shape of our circle as we write.
Our words stray as he sings of his longing.
All the neighbors are out on the town tonight.

But not the tomcat. He wants in. He wants in.

9/2/2002
Vito's place, Richmond
rev. 10/17/2015