The gray cat keeps watch by the window, staring at a sunless day.
Her head turns, ears on alert, when two juncos alight on the deck.
The Christmas tree’s colored lights garish in the morning.
Half-drunk bottles of cabernet litter the kitchen counter,
red carnations in the table settings have gone limp.
Please don’t ask about the children, no longer children, now men,
back at their own digs. We’ve haven’t heard from them
since they packed up their gifts and the leftovers in plastic tubs.
They could be sleeping all, day, or filling out job applications,
or heaving weights at the gym. Might be watching You Tube,
how to cook favorite foods of The Wire. Any hope
of grandchildren on the horizon is misguided, don’t ask about that, either.
Extreme climate: eight degrees at eight a.m. The President
won’t stop tweeting. I watch the juncos, brave against the cold.
Originally published in the South Florida Poetry Journal, January 2018 issue
You can pre-order my new poetry collection , The Glamorganshire Bible, from Finishing Line Press by March 23! $13.99. Proceeds from author’s copies in lieu of royalties go to Mercy High School, Baltimore, MD, for scholarship and development funds.