your cat
lying on his
back with paws
like a boxer's
gloves, held
chin high
to protect
the jab, the
hook, or upper
cut. his one
eye closed,
another fight
in some alley,
you suppose.
but you love
this cat,
the fight in him,
pawing
shadows in
his dreams, while
you do like wise
in your narrow
bed near a
window, where
sunlight signals
another round
to begin.
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