Morning arrived as usual today
and we shook ourselves slowly
from sleep to greet it.
As we rose and drew open
the curtains and blinds
all that morning had to say,
and said rather imperiously
was “where is the coffee —
you can’t expect a damn thing
from me until I’ve had
at least two cups,
and brew them strong and black,
like the night I
chased off to get here.”
black
DODECAPHOBIA OR NOT
As the moon begins
it’s slow departure
we step carefully out
into the receiving night.
The neighbor’s black cat
looks up at the sky
warily, steps around
the ladder leaning
against the house, and sits
and contemplates the number
thirteen, though it holds
no special place
in the feline world, it
just seems the thing to do.