behind a hole in a wooden gate
a family of siamese bask in the hot scent
of red brick dust. twilight, their silhouettes
shadowed against piping and tumbled tiles.
little ones scramble from the intruder;
madame chocolate points doesn’t twitch:
with exquisite calm, she eyes me forever,
dares me challenge her or enter or leave
or move; el jefe, almost black in the fading light,
saunters over, one yellow eye glinting,
fixes me enquiringly, and then, having delivered
sufficient warning or judged me harmless,
leaves me in the care of his haughty consort,
who has not, as yet, moved an eyelash.
we understand one another well, i think.
