— for Brother Ron Fender
No tailor’s artistry
could equal the elegance
of my cat’s stripes
as he walks into the bathroom
where I’m taking a shit.
Purring, he rubs
against my legs.
He accepts me on any
terms, comes close
however I smell,
loves me without illusion.
He makes me ashamed
of my own cowardice,
of the times I have flinched,
repulsed by the stench
of human beings
who only needed
an embrace.
