EASTER SUNDAY

I've been arrested.

Detested.

And molested.

In the back alley

behind the Waffle House,

this feral cat

I feed

doesn't care

about any

of these things.

I call her

"Miss Kid"

but she doesn't

give a damn

about that either.

She just 

trusts

that what I give her -

bacon, chicken

and milk

in a bowl - 

is first class. 

"What you are giving me is good, too.

"I sure as hell don't deserve it.  But thank you."

I say out loud,

looking into the am clouds.

I feel stupid,

but I have 

an infantile hope

that the words I speak

are heard by someone.

Somewhere.

Out there.

Without warning,

the back door

of the Waffle House

bursts open.

The angry cook

is screaming 

into his phone again.

"I DON'T CARE IF YOU DON'T LOVE ME!

I LOVE YOU ANYWAY!  YOU HEAR ME!?  

I LOVE YOU ANYWAY

BECAUSE THAT'S HOW I ROLL BABY!"

He glanced at me

and smiled 

an irritable smile. 

He stormed 

around the corner,

leaving me

alone.

I lit a cigarette.

I thought hard

about things

while,

at my feet,

Miss Kid

licked the pot clean. 

And then

somehow,

at that moment,

I could forgive

myself

for being a lot

of bad things

like

arrested,

detested

and molested.