At the Corner of Fifth and Dale This street cat hates me; she wont purr At my jokes, just

stares at me as if Ive stolen Her catnip, so I try a new one, a joke About a mouse and a breadcrumb. She yawns, refuses to hide her boredom. The way my luck spins Im sure She senses my game: man who dishes Out small rations of comfort. Im guilty, But is a little purr or a little eye flicker Too much to ask on this late June morning.