when we were somewhat young

aliens come to teach us tricks
less silly than simply playing fetch,
watching the sun hide into wordlessness
like young sangria tossed onto worn carpets.

you and your pencil, glue stick
trying its best to hold together the steps
one follows, solving the most tiresome
riddles, equations, whiteboard confetti.

fly through tonight, keep your head down
and don’t vomit yet because there’s much more
that we haven’t seen and the people around the corner
have an entire book filled, oddities and monsters smirking.

we once wrote stories and scared off those
who timed themselves in the late afternoon
and made sure to climb the stairs at five
while we knew we’d be searched for, astray.

ants form a line, encircling the smoothest rocks
we walked right over, arched nonchalance glowing
in the heat, the unknown and feared biting our ankles
that worked, pushed, and fought against suburban rest.

Cat No. 92 of the 500 Cats Project

The Visitor

cream cheese
and honey,
some chocolate syrup.

the things our young
piece together
despite the solemn vow
to never sit down,
slurping crunchy Ramen.

striped straws
and cups,
a makeshift interview.

invitations by laptop
scatter salt
upon tasteless plans
that cannot cross
unattended streets.

cotton blouse
and hat,
sunburned friendships.

Cat No. 48 of the 500 Cats Project