Black Cat

At dusk,
a black cat
climbed up the sky
and licked her tail
in the pale yellow sun --
and curled high over the flats,
birthed one-two-three kittens,
dropped so many, so black
the streets slinked
along the hour,
and a litter of porchlamps
played with the moon
like a ball of yarn,
and the theatre district dozed
on Mrs Havens' windowsill.

Ernest Slyman

If you've any comments on this poem, Ernest Slyman would be pleased to hear from you.