Screech

Night prowlers got big eyes,
ears that turn like dishes
catching on some radio sign –
distress or misstep on a twig.

I woke to the garbled rage
of cats in a thrash
over borders or a breached fence –
vicious – like a bad sentence
misread as subject and object
tangle for dominion.

I woke to a turf war,
a scrap over scraps,
haunch of a rabbit,
and even the dog,
prone to intercede,
recoiled.

Image: Leonardo Yip on Unsplash

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