Written By: Allison Noonan
After moving to this house,
surrounded by broken whirlybirds
and crashed satellites,
boxwood shrubs releasing cat piss
flavored ammonia,
and chain link fences
on the verge of collapse,
I’d soon discover a few stray cats
who lived in between
panels.
I hesitate
to call them feral
as they brush between
my legs, purring,
greeting me, as I go out to feed them,
the same way my grandmother does.
On Mondays, or after it rains,
I change out the bird seed.
It's never quite empty,
but the water collects
and small white bugs
begin to commune.
I figure they’re extra protein
for the birds, so I leave them be,
letting nature take its course.
I think about the cats
getting ahold of the birds,
whether or not I’m playing a part
in their eventual demise.
Aren’t they just protein, too?
In the dead of night,
as I look up at the ceiling,
my thoughts race
with all the hypotheticals.
In the end, I find peace
knowing if my cats had to eat
my body,
how I am just protein
after all.
Allison Noonan is a most-of-the-time-poet writing about the strange and bizarre. More of her work can be found via Instagram @allisonnoonan.
The link has been copied!
