A Consequential Claws

Third night of Venus
rivaling the barn’s motion light
across the alley. Unsure
which pulls our cat
from the couch
to the wild.

Gophers mounds disrupt
the curved stone walk.
His occasional hunting
brings headless trophies
to the porch.

He is the black lord
of the red clover. His reign
extends to the borage,
borders on the lavender,
taunts both bird and bee.

A lifelong pet
unaware of the news.
His demand of fealty
quiets our terror
of the virus.

The morning door scratch
means the world has turned
again under the moon
and rituals of coffee
and respect may begin.

I try to explain a retail
security guard getting shot
in the head for insisting
on face masks but
meows drown me out.