Runt of the litter, long-haired gray tom
that will never make it here, bent tail
riding parallel beside him, you plugged
into whoever’d take him –
now whines high on a log end
beneath the gutter in the rain, alone
disgruntled with the weather.
His family has abandoned him again –
not even the dogs are interested
in a stare down, each meow complains.
drycrikjournal 