The Mighty Hunters

Tentative
as my cat (also known
as “the mighty hunter” for his skill
at slaying centipedes) testing
a pile of books to see
how well it will hold him,
I approach each day
slow foot by slow foot,
not adding weight to any step
until I’m sure I will not fall.
In this way I have maintained
a perfect record
for many years,
remaining alive without
going too far. And much like
my cat (who lives vicariously
through the squirrels
under his window)
I’m fat, and neutered,
and restricted (yes,
I know it’s self-imposed
restraint but by now
it may as well be law)
to square visions of
an outside world, but
as long as my books
will hold me, I am mostly
at peace
with days such as these
and their remote dawns.

My cat, through long habit,
will not even attempt
a rush at an open door
any more;

while I still
sometimes will step out
and dare and risk
a second or two of new,
there are too often times
when things go mildly
off track and I am forced
to be more alive than I can
easily recall how to be — say,
having to address
an uncomfortable pause
in a conversation when I have blurted
more truth than I can reasonably
stand behind in further dialogue —
moments, in fact, much like this one —

as I’ve said, there are times
when I think my cat,
fat, old, and sedate though he may be
in his miniature explorations
of familiar ground,
has the right idea
and understands more clearly
the limits to growth
than I do.

So I too
more and more
test each step
for footing
as chatter and leaping
go on around me
at a safe distance
and pet the cat
with a book in my lap.
We pretend we’ve seen it all and done it all,
and play the mighty hunters
retired.