A Cherokee Rose

The dogs bark across the way,
and in our own yard, a grating sound –
a restless jay
that out sings even the injured bloodhound.
My yellow cat sleeps in the corner.
He has fallen asleep by the door,
dreaming of freedoms (my silent mourner).
When I cough, he comes to lie
purring by my thankful side.

I fed the potted plant today –
the one you gave me with orange and yellow flowers.
I had noticed the petals wilting.
It did not take the water, instead
spitting it upon the hardwood floor
for my cat to lap up (until he realized it was full of dirt).

A whippoorwill begins to sound in a nearby pine.
I faintly hear the familiar cry –
a southern lullaby, elsewhere a simple whine –
but I don’t quite listen.
I am too busy cleaning up the mess I’ve wrought.