Cloudy With 100 Percent Chance of Rain
by Pat Phillips West
Portland weather sounds
like Miles Davis, kind of blue, this wind
staccato, this rain a one-note tap, tap
October to March.
When geese chatter about heading south,
the cat hears his woman mumble,
Me too. She uses the same flyway,
walks a well-worn path
to the store for wine and cat food.
Back in the warm bungalow,
she pours the tabby some kibble
neat, no chaser, and sips a generous glass
of Shanghai silk merlot. Buster notices
her new habit of talking aloud to herself.
He curls up on the rag rug next to the woodstove
for his early evening nap. Then a strange sound
registers on his radar. He raises one eyelid
to see her attempt a wobbly soft-shoe shuffle
his direction. Forget how much you hate water,
let’s kick loose Gene Kelly style, go tap dance
around a lamp post.
Buster crouches, fixed to pounce.
Pat Phillips West moved so often even her closest friends asked if she was in the Witness Protection Program. She refused to comment. Her poems appear in Haunted Waters Press, Persimmon Tree, VoiceCatcher, San Pedro River Review, Slipstream and elsewhere.