It was as if
the cat taught her to keep
her garbage neat.
Her garabage neat
in bags wrapped twice
and tight— it ought to be
enough. But this cat
it (was as if it)
always knew— the way
the nose knew & followed
where it was led, its hunger
a distended corner
of the trash bag, tender
with the meat&juice, leftover
rot from last night’s feast
— always knew exactly where
to claw it open. It happened
not once, not twice, but often!
Whose cat? Whose cat?
So she cleaned her trash
before throwing it out:
rinsed each wrap,
each can brushed.
Silly, really,
to have clean, neat garbage
but sillier
still to fight against the will
of a creature that knows its hunger well,
knows where to lead it,
and with a claw knows
to gut open the tight, twice-wrapped
bag where she keeps
spoiled meat, fish skeleton.
