Whenever she comes by
it's always the same thing.
I make her comfortable
and then she leaves.

I tell her she's a harlot
hooking up all night
with God knows who
but in her case God

looks the other way.
Curious neighbors
ask if I know her.  
I ask them do I look

like that kind of man?
Peter denied Christ thrice
but I make Peter a piker
when it comes to denying

this siren of the streets.
Once in a while a neighbor,
smitten as I am, takes her in
because she's attractive

and it's peaceful until
some morning very early
she's on my deck again
heartbroken, forlorn,

willing to do anything
for a nosh and a drink.
Since no one is up
at that hour to see me

I sit on the deck
and she leaps on my lap
and I stroke her until
she's a Lamborghini

purring at a red light.
Then she drives off,
leaving me on the deck
heartbroken, forlorn.

She must have been spayed.
Never had any kittens.
What might Pope Francis
think about this?

Her kittens, after all,
would have been beautiful
just as she is,
harlot or not.

-- Donal Mahoney