Thursday, April 21, 2016


Eva's cat fell in love with my stewed toes,
and she polished them, every one.
Then euphorically drooled and rubbed them
like long lost kin, with head upside-down,
purring for all she was worth.
I was a stranger. And no, my feet
weren't overripe, we had soaked
at Keough Hot Springs all afternoon.
I never had such an ardent fan as that cat.
Maybe it was something I said.
The timbre of voices as we read aloud.
Or maybe it was that batch
of Billy Collins inspired poems
fresh out of the proverbial oven
that Eva was reading from.


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