Pet
       

The way the cat walked,
stalking—Each step

an extraction of himself,
from the grass, unmoved.

How long I watched,
how I loved

to watch, and how I tried
to make him a little home.

But what is wanted wants
to leg it elsewhere, no matter.

When he was happy,
he was hunting.

He was hunting
the exception to his silence—

that is what he wished to eat.
He would slaughter

his way back to solitude.

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Copyright © 2019 Rose McLarney All rights reserved
from Forage
Penguin Random House
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission