a saucer of buttermilk

it's a porcelain

plate,

a souvenir saucer

from Italy

that i set on the porch

with

buttermilk

for the stray cat

that wanders

the street.

she's black with

green

eyes

and speaks with a low

cigarette

smoker's growl.

the milk

stripes her mouth,

drips

from her whiskers.

is she happy?

i don't know, but i am.