Waiting for the light

Exits

monday, he broke the gate and ran away
yesterday, he clawed the plaster wall
trying to get out the locked door

this morning, curled on the floor, he drools
and shakes, ears back, teeth chattering
like the low grinding of some machine

while the relentless sound of a nail gun
hammers through the wash of daylight
hanging across the street

he remains silent but
the big brown eyes turn up,
wide open, whites showing

okay, I sigh, and reach for my purse
he jumps up, runs to the door,
sits completely still, waits

with quick glances to make sure I am still
coming and will see him there
shaking but on best behavior

his usual expressions of slow relish are gone
but then, at one time or another,
haven't we all needed to make a quick exit?

in the end, perhaps this is why we
are here: to assist each other
through some necessary exit

Night

One hand holding my guitar,
I bite into a cherry tomato,
the taste of my
garden floods my mouth, seeds
spill across my tongue. The glass
slide's melody buzzes insistently
in my ear above the rapid
heartbeat of bass.
The window is dark.
I could love a summer
night.