The neighborhood tabby and her annual litter
scamper out of sight like ghosts in pilfered slippers.
Bees are sheathed like fingers in the foxgloves.
Young ferns unfurl their curved stems like tongues.
Two houses down a fat man and the mother he hates
have barricaded their front door with crates.
No one comes or goes for days at a time.
Roses in the yard blaze and climb.
At the foot of a pear tree, mama cat skulks,
stalking a carefree squirrel who dares her to pounce.
She calls his bluff with a thud, then flounces home
with jaws full of supper, trailing drops of blood.