By Allison Elliott
Featured art by Edward Penfield
That cat on the corner, drowsy in the arms
of a sleepy-eyed woman. That cat knows something.
You’ve indulged several seasons of vague forecasts,
now you’re playing bad cop with the weather.
A traffic light changes before you’ve finished crossing,
What can that mean? What future portend?
You pass a two-seater buggy with only one baby. Make
a note of it. It might come up later.
The drunk who yells all night under your window
was gone three days, now he’s back.
The Spanish lullaby on the radio,
the eyelash in your lemon tea.
Star witnesses with nothing to tell you.
And they were your whole case.
Allison Elliott is a communications professional in New York City. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in The Hopkins Review, Perigee, and The Manhattanville Review.