From the thick night fog slinks green eyes,
and wary footsteps with fur-clad paws,
limbs that ripple in the twilight,
ears soaked in the metropolis pulse.
She marvels at the spilled oil’s hues,
a moon-drenched rainbow-slick,
as the click-clacking of hooves
pass and wagons drift.
Her tail waves, a salute through velvet haze,
and she grinds her claws on a timber doorstep
to leave intrinsic lines, reminders of her
in nature’s cadaver, the human wasteland.
Then preens as a ballerina,
leg strained to the moon
and sculpts a shadow of elegance
along the metal bin row.
Copyright © 2019 Bridget Webber. All rights reserved