The Cat

The floor started creaking
when the cat peeked inside
the cradle with his butter eyes.
Pavement walls his house now.

He skirts from post to post along
the moonless highway to avoid
the eyes of the curious throng.
The cat can’t sleep motionless.

Grudges haunt the cold air
and the cat just wants a doorstep
to rest his weary coat upon.
The familiar red door now holds in wails.

If perhaps a snippet of hope
came to cross his winding path
then maybe the cat would still his tail.
Once more his butter eyes would glow.