the woman
in the Cadillac
asks when she rolls
down her window.
she's referring to her
old black cat
that wanders
the neighborhood,
going under parked
cars and down into
the sewers.
lying in the sun on
a porch when tired.
i pour her a small
bowl of buttermilk
from time to time when
she visits me.
nope, i tell the woman.
haven't seen her
this week.
we'll if she shows up
tell her i'm looking for her,
and to come home. okay?
okay, i'll do that.
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