A cat allowed her table scraps
is how it has begun, this dim
Dutch I’ve heard for years
and now must learn.
Dishes fix the azimuth
of which one caught your words,
“Something’s wrong. I watch
myself as if I am not here”.
A dial tone replaced your voice,
the response I couldn’t find.
The clever kitty scoots away.
The waiter makes his rounds.
Harried, he speaks in Dutch
I somehow understand.
He leaves. I try these sounds
to the lure the puddy back again.
“Dear Boots, now but the moon
can bounce my worry back to you.
We are both cats, must live
from paw to mouth like them.”