Cats

I actually had never titled this poem, which I obviously wrote sometime in the winter of 2007-08. I think "Cats" is appropriate, though, despite the fact that I hate cats. In the interest of full disclosure, I also admit that I have gone back and changed some of the capitalization here. But I think it reads just as well, and I like it for what it reminds me of, and what its simplicity evokes.

Cats


Pink-cheeked San Francisco
arches its back and
yawns, its Bay and
Golden Gate Bridge whiskers twitching.
We are recent converts here, stretching
our legs on its hills,
pitching our voices to its graceful rhythm,
lolling rough tongues in
and out.
“You’re pretty,” he says between trolleys.
His lithe feline figure
could teach this
city
a thing or two.