a poem for sunday

not old…older

two letters make a lot of difference

i’ve become this (not going to say it) OLDER lady who sits on her porch

except i sit and write, i don’t rock in a rocking chair

my dad used to sit

in this very same chair

i was walking down the street last night with a friend

and this OLDER lady was sitting on her front porch petting her orange older cat

she said he was 18 years older

and that he’d been separated from his mom at an early age

hence the reason why he caterwauled night and day

and required A LOT of petting in order to satiate him

but now in his older age he was a lot more chill

and before my friend and i could walk away

her dog appeared in the window and she told us HIS story

of how her son got him as a puppy and then gave him to her to raise

but the pup was wild and literally made her hands bleed because he didn’t know his teeth were sharp

so she went to the vet

and the vet said to flip the pup over on his side to show him who’s boss

but that didn’t work

the only thing that worked was playing

with the dog for three weeks straight

now the pup doesn’t shred her hands

he just barks his head off in the window while she pets the cat on the porch

as if to say

look at me look at me i’m here notice me i’m special too