A Slow Covid Saturday In Sydney, May 2021 Poem by Lesley Freedman

The ginger cat pads silently past on Pashley street.
Malcolm emerges uncertainly from #15, no coat. Unlocks his car, departs.
A cloud shadow briefly dims the morning light.

The cat reaches a tiler's flatbed and is strongly attracted to its rear mudguard.
Sniffs every angle then almost licks it with great interest.

From behind the fence at #17 a black and white persian
coolly observes the ranga, now crouching beneath the flatbed.

Dave shambles past on his way to the pub.
A few raindrops spatter the asphalt.
I close the window.

Shirley walks her Labrador towards the shops.
He, too, finds the mudguard appealing, but she drags him onwards.
Ginger sidles out and pads back home.

A terrier, trapped inside #22, suddenly begins to bark.
Loud and pointless.
The persian retires.

After a pause, an elegant, ebony feline shows up.
Her velvet tail curls like a question mark or a ring-tailed possum.
She regards the scene with yellow eyes as large as saucers.
I think about doing something else.