In the twilight yard of Sant’Isidoro,
cat and pigeon eye to eye in a stare-down,
ignore the bang of the cancello
as I enter from my Sunday passegiata,
locked in fur-and-feather face-off.  

It could just be for show,
entertainment for passing tourists on the Via degli Artisti,
since after allowing me a photo opp, the pigeon takes flight—
“That cat’s too fat and lazy to chase anything,”
Father Joe tells me later.
“The pigeon could have stepped a few paces closer.”  

Among the million cats of Rome
ours have grown too used to the tolerance
of St. Francis or perhaps the benevolence
of tourists dispensing food at the fence.
I’ve watched these felines
lazing in hot Roman summer sun,
siesta-ing most of the day.
Now I’m convinced
they’re not working nights either.