they’ve caught us again.

pointing fingers
or at least pawing
at limbs quick to break
as wind chimes somehow
get the idea that they could muster
volume in voice, a shout that quiets the town.

hide another crumb beneath these dry leaves
and nod your head for every single ant
who defies these jagged pebbles
that spin and mar the surface
not belonging to red hoods
of cars, nor old sweaters.

underneath, it’s cooler.

Cats No. 93 and 94 of the 500 Cats Project