A headless dove rumples the front lawn, the aftershock of last night’s cat frenzy. Worse;
the smaller female mourning outside the back door, down among the gravel, driveway dirt; barely a wale between the dry leaves of last fall. Does she know what’s happened a few yards round front? Did they say so long? Is she tsking to herself about a spat they had, wishing she could seize an offhand remark from the air like a moth? Was there love between them?
Nothing will put the head back on; a neighbor and her ten-year-old boy bury the cold remains.
Red cowgirl boots, red shorts, a white sleeveless shirt with a red ‘I heart NYC’ across the mostly visible pink bra. She’s going to trap all the free cats in the neighborhood, haul them off. Searching for a compliment on her outfit, she asks, Are these too many different reds? Don’t see any red, can’t open my mouth, that telling ran under the grass hours ago.
Thomas Griffin’s poetry has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize, recognized with an Academy of American Poets Prize and continues to be published widely in journals, magazines, reviews and anthologies. His most recent chapbook is All That Once Was You (Finishing Line Press, 2018). Thomas has a BA in Language, Literature & Writing and an MFA in Writing.