A mom cat is messing and not gone
With the kitten held by loose scruff.
Mom cat is searching for other night
On another hot roof, on scalded feet.
Kitten turns small night’s scraping.
The scraping of the night is a sound
In the inner lobe of the ear’s poems.
Cats are poems on your hot tin roof.
They sky-drop flowing a rain water
Snaking through roof corrugations.
(A gentle recall of Raja Rao’s novel The Cat and Shakespeare)