the feral cats wait by my tent
hoping to be fed from
my stash of ham and cheese
they don't pay rent but
neither do I and they ask with their
sinuous pacing stares but
they won't let me touch
even a hair under the trees
I can't blame them for being scared
things are rough out here with
the spiders, ticks, and bees
for those born under roofs
into families and coddled warm
fed until the day--poof
it's all gone and they wake from a dream
to find the rush of traffic overhead
their new roof bridge and sky
calico fuzzies fight those who came before
--the ragged greys and blacks--
for the muskrats and the mice in the grass
down here by the water in the spring
where they can hear the fish
flopping and splashing under the stars
on moonlit nights they hunger
hated water in the way
so they chase the snakes instead
and weave around my fire
hoping to share the spoils I bring
to this clearing in the nettles each day
sometimes I wake to find one
curled against my warmth, purring
as I turn to pet a share of their negative ions
they take flight back into darkness
so I roll a cigarette and smoke
staring out at moonlight
dappled water sliding by
I sigh into memories of
other days wondering
how long I will wait
for the ferals to share their ions
like I share my meat.
