The cat sat anxiously, mewing atop the folded lid,

The top of a run that once housed a few ginea pigs,

And the heavens' dead and solid grey ran parallel

To the garden's green, chaotic face

That was stemming

Into the flowers,

Through the bushes,

And up into the blossoms

Of the trees that were here before this house

 

As the window suddenly grew foggy,

I realised how closely I was looking

And how I had hoped to smell

The refreshing outdoor air

But the smell of chlorine intruded,

And I looked over to the offending bottle of bleach,

Then back to where the cat had been sitting,

I heard the sound of the television in the living room,

At that I went back