Translucent whispers, while you catch me,
withering from the weight of the world, lust. And now
The dog of a millionaire’s mansion is staring back at me. Window reflecting
the mindless mind. They can see ghosts, they say. There’s never any strays
here in north Chicago. I can’t say the same about the puddle-filled
alleyways. Rubber souls splash the pavement not loud enough.
Those innocent eyes screeching. The little fuzzball extracted
every color from the sun, orange bursts. Your diminutive body huddles for
warmth under the rotten garbage. As I crouch luring you to what could
be. You’re beckoned away. Those eyes are soaked into me,
I’ll feel the weight of your grievances with the world. Your paws
track the next morning’s dew. You’ll always stop me in my tracks.
The golden retriever perched on the satin loveseat.
And then the stray kitten, huddled under the garbage.