summer sport

After a busy evening
listening to cicada orchestras
and dancing with
                grasshoppers
through the weeds,
the cat comes home.

He sniffs the bowl of kibble
then looks up, looks
dissatisfied, as if to say,
“dried cat food’s
                just
                  not
                    cricket.”

Author: don't confuse the narrator

Exploring the boundary between writer and narrator through first person poetry, prose and opinion

One thought on “summer sport”

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