The wood of the porch swing always creaks, but that night
In the darkness of moonlight
There was no sound.
Only the flurry of words
Spilled from his mouth: Horseshit.

He marked his territory all over my apartment, just to
Claw his way through the window screen for one coquette alley cat.

At the café, listening to the cashier count change and quietly sipping my tea,
I look across the street and there he is, trying hard not to make a scene.
The girl he’s with yells something as she wrenches free from his grip.
As I get up and turn to walk away, I hear his voice yell
“Horseshit!”