dollops of dander
mighty mousers meander—
cats with cattitude


© 2020 Mark Toney.  All rights reserved.

The stars might look like
milky bones from afar.
Or glowing tennis *****,
still clutched in owner's hands
while the dumb dog
chases something hidden.

Did he stick his head
out the window of the spaceship?

Tongue out,
howling.

Did he know the hole
he had dug
was his own grave?

I hate when owners
pretend to throw a ball,
only to hide it behind their backs.

The dog trusts you.
The dog loves you.
The dog loves life.
The dog doesn't want to die.
The dog doesn't deserve to die.
The dog doesn't care about exploring space,
it just wants to find that ******* ball.

The windfarmer was thirty
When Sputnik was launched.
He woke the kids who followed
His finger across the night sky
Of a nativity scene.

He returned to the tractor,
Ploughed years of soil,
Planted rows of questions,
Tilled crops and cared
For animals.

He's a windfarmer now.
Stands beneath the behemoth blades
Turning over the air we breathe,
Felling the clouds,
And harvesting the wind.
The mills are run by a distant orbiter.
His farm,
He calls it Spooknyk.