House Cat
He trails his aura
like blood after a kill;
slinks innocently
inaudibly
past my kitchen
where the canary nervously
scatters seeds and song
- for once grateful for
captivity.
Late morning will find him on
a windowsill
an armchair
a purple pillow
teasing dust and sunlight with
his tail.
Then
s-t-r-e-t-c-h
rollll
C
U
R L
and a liquid instant
when every creature in my garden
is at the mercy of
domestiCATed violence.
© Carla du Preez 11 Aug. 2017