Pumpkin and the Praxis 48

Cat sits behind typewriter,
her eyes jumping with keys.
She's leaning over the carriage
now; if she tries to catch one,
she's in trouble:
she'll have half a paragraph
on her paw
before she pulls it out.

"Yeah, well, that's not the half of it.  He went right back up, but as soon as he got to the top step, "POW!" the guy let him have it right on the kisser, and when he hit the sidewalk that time, he was bleeding.  I don't know if I was scared or what, but I went running up the steps and tried to tackle the guy.  Then Frankie came out from behind the door and started kicking me in the ribs..."

Pumpkin jerks back
when the bell rings,
then forward again,
her cat brows knitted,
her paw raised.

"Then grandfather came back up, and we all went rolling down to the sidewalk.  All I remember seeing is legs, fists and concrete.  When we hit the bottom, Frankie's father was right on top of me; I could hardly breathe, but I was still holding on.  I guess we did pretty good for a little while, but when grandfather got knocked out, that ended it.  I was still crying and swinging, but Frankie's father pulled him up the steps by his hair, and they went back inside..."

I stop to hear
exactly what I've said.
Pumpkin curls
around the typewriter,
purring for me
to turn it off,
purring for me
to turn it off.


(Forum, Ball State University, Autumn 1989)