Wintering In
On cold days, when the cat leaves the cushion at the foot of the sofa and settles onto my lap to curl into sleep, I set aside time to become a mattress.
cat’s purr
the way she says
rhododendron
Tall-Tale
The blue-tailed lizard I have disturbed on my desert hike turns his head, the way a train conductor swings his lantern to call passengers to board, and stares at me momentarily with eyes black and bright as a tap dancer’s shoes, before he scurries to his nearby home-hole, where, no doubt, he will spread the news of his lightning-fast escape from the clutches of yet another giant on walkabout.
the bullfrog
has swallowed a truck . . .
listen!
Keith Polette has begun writing poetry again after a lengthy haitus in the world of prose. He currently lives and writes in El Paso, Texas.