From the thick night fog slinks green eyes,

and wary footsteps with fur-clad paws,

limbs that ripple in the twilight,

ears soaked in the metropolis pulse.

She marvels at the spilled oil’s hues,

a moon-drenched rainbow-slick,

as the click-clacking of hooves

pass and wagons drift.

Her tail waves, a salute through velvet haze,

and she grinds her claws on a timber doorstep

to leave intrinsic lines, reminders of her

in nature’s cadaver, the human wasteland.

Then preens as a ballerina,

leg strained to the moon

and sculpts a shadow of elegance

along the metal bin row.

Copyright © 2019 Bridget Webber. All rights reserved

Written by

Writer, poet, storyteller. Author Page Amazon

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