|
| 5-22-04 |
| Cherokee |
 |
 |
| Chiricahua |
 |
|
The Hooded Box The cats scatter litter helter skelter, So I buy a hooded box. I pour in pebbles till I see Three inches Of scoopable, Clumping crystals which can Sponge a puddle Into a coherent ball. The cats circle—sniff—caucus, then Ratify. The scratched and flung dirt Stays in the hooded box. My floors are smooth now; I can walk Barefoot If I want. The cats squat without a thought, Smirking in secret sanctuary As cat-dreams Tap-dance within the hooded box. |