Jake's Flea Market

images of the poems i wanted
to come calico or sleek
and black furred and reflecting light
with white from the snout down
the chest under the belly and white
the paws of a poem i’d title sylvester

i’ve seen the thought in the headlights
to open my notebook like a door and admit
one of those if ever i saw one stalk
in the deep ditch through the tall grass

but this poem comes out of the alley there’s
no deep grass for it to slink into
it’s in my kitchen its paws are
silver and mom would call this poem blue