Mama Cat

While walking down the hall
of a greeting card company
I passed a crateful of kitties
being carted away for their close-up.
There were eight in all,
plus their gray mommy
who was wrenching her head
in every which-way direction
making sure her youngins were safe
from harm —
from the humans
ooing, awing, and loving
all over her offspring.
And of course they were, safe.
(The admirers were women who make
birthday cards for a living, after all.)
But mama just kept looking over her shoulder,
her eyes wide, alert, watching.

Because, you know,
a mother always worries.

The Poem About the Razor's Edge

The Irish Barber
had an assistant
who liked to talk
to his wife
as he cut hair
with a special shiny
straight razor.
And as talking
became arguing,
shaving became
butchering,
and I left the shoppe

short a half-pound
of flesh.
But up one bad haircut.

The Poem About the Nest

When the winds of change
are so great
they knock a bird’s nest free
from the safe and cozy hold
of a downspout
elbowing against a house,
what does the bird do then?

She gathers twigs, of course.

Haiku #5

Hot and sticky day,

heart as free as a child's,

every day summer.