By Robin Anne Reid
CATS for T.A.H.
When you live with a seventeen pound black beast
who tracks splotches of mud across freshly typed manuscripts,
sits back with a furry smirk as three pictures topple from the walls,
takes an early morning stroll between the covers,
soaking wet, just to be friendly,
and leaves deep scratches on your arms and neck
so people think you have a kinky love life
(and maybe you do),
you laugh when people ask you why you like cats.
Fall Haiku
New minted, glossy chestnuts are knocked spinning by my fall-mad cat.
Leaves stop, hesitate to leave green-sapped boughs. Chilling winds blow brown and red.
Blue air hides blue sea, mits darwn up and seasoned. Salt spices the fall air.