House Fire Snowstorm

I saw smoke

south on the horizon,

thought it was a factory,

but there's no industry

out there anymore.

This time of year

it's more likely a house fire.

I waited for sirens,

but none came

as dusty snow 

blew across Route 57

like so much ash.

As Loneliness Slips Into Obsolescence

I answer my messages

alone this afternoon

feeling social and

simultaneously anti-social,

but not the least bit

contradictory. 

One of my cats watches,

has a bath, waits for me.

With all this technology,

perhaps loneliness

will go the way 

of the rotary phone,

I say to the cat.

He looks up briefly, then goes 

back to licking his own feet.

When I set down my device

he jumps into my lap,

walks in two circles

and lays down. He is warm

and my friend, so I am happy.

We sit together as I think

about Ancient Egyptians

domesticating cats 

4000 years ago, 

wondering if they thought 

they'd rendered loneliness

obsolete.

Practical Cats Who Have Never Met T.S. Eliot

For our cats

the removal of our Christmas tree

is a practical matter.

It is not muddied

with nostalgia, nor sorrow

at holiday's end.

There's no dread

concerning January's

brutality, no

worry over

a lack of daylight,

the mental toll.

Our cats miss the tree

as a water source with

subtle pine undertones.

Concern over these 

tomorrows, the cruelty of winter,

is for the rest of us.

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