February 3, 2019Cold Front
When the cold front hit, icing the breadbasket
of America, the government banned all household
pets. Too much waste! declared the President,
who’d never walked a dog or stroked a cat.
After the collection centers failed, the National Guard,
with blue efficiency, swept through neighborhoods
armed with dog treats and catnip, cages and flashlights,
poking into closets, peering under porches.
In the teeming cities, hordes of homeless invaded
once overflowing shelters. Later, some were spotted
wearing scarves reminiscent of tabby tails,
hands snugged in fur-lined mittens.
Care Bears™ replaced service animals.
Stepping in for seeing-eye dogs
became a popular form of community service.
Exterminators were busy trapping mice.
With no dogs to walk, people stayed indoors.
I heard the little girl next door cry herself
to sleep, her parents shouting in the kitchen.
The little boy across the street gnawed his nails
to the quick. His sister developed trichotillomania,
harvesting her golden hair like wheat. At the pharmacy,
a line around the block for Xanax, Zoloft, Celexa.
Was it growing colder?
At night, I prowl through our home, my ear
tuned for the tinny jingle of our CoCo’s bell,
expecting a gray swish of tail in the corner of my eye.
I lift a bed-skirt in half-remembered anticipation.
I try to knit but can’t stop my hands from trembling.
I wake to a wet nuzzling near my elbow or a 2 a.m. meow,
then realize it’s the contrail of a dream. We toss her litter box,
her pooper scooper, her collar stitched with tiny hearts,
but keep her furminator on the nightstand, make
an altar of her favorite toys. Now, my husband and I
take turns. Some days, he kneels and licks her bowl.
Others, I curl at his feet and purr.
from Poets Respond