that black cat slinks across the street,
flows under the pontiac like spilled ink.
the sloppy woman from around the corner
in the 49ers t-shirt with last night's party
stains all down her chest, yells at her son
-just shut the fuck up and get in the car.
the cat scoots from the beater 4-door
to the juniper hedge beside the driveway,
turns around and glares a yellow death curse
at the noisy slob scaring away the sparrows
she was stalking. the sparrows perch
on the rain gutters of building 1420
and lob their tiny shit bombs into
the foul-mouthed mother's dirty hair.
she doesn't even notice but her son does
and he tries to hide a smirk behind his hand.
her party partner from the night before
shouts from the balcony, where you going,
get me some beer and a pack of newports
while you're out. she turns and hollers back
i only have ten bucks and you already
owe me twenty, you cheapass fuck.
the cat crouches under the junipers and
i could swear she's wearing a cheshire smile.
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