the tenth small stone: the ordinary

Day 10

the ordinary

morning cat pokes his nose
into my eyelid, wanting fed.
my other eye waters and
focuses on blue clock face
an hour past his usual time.

we race downstairs, cat always
winning, though I start down first.
he handicaps me, I suppose,
ungainly human— slow, he thinks.

he sniffs kibble, waits
till his tongue touches tuna
in the other bowl, laps a little,
then wrinkles his whiskers,

ready now for winter weather
but only for a moment, this creature
comfortable in his own routine,
prefers the inside warmth, the ordinary.

Carol A. Stephen
January 10, 2012

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