Summer

My cat, 14 years old
striped brown and beige
with greying back and ears and feet
lies stretched as flat
as a dime upon the pavement,
barely breathing in the heat.

Her little toes twitch as she
dreams, who knows what
dreams while I'm sitting here in my
uncomfortable body, hot -
wondering if it's OK to relax -
Shouldn't I be doing something?
There is progress to be made!
But why?  For what?

Do we need permission
to be idle from time to time?
I'm not answering the phone,
I've decided, and I
lean back in my chair.

My cat senses my nervous
stirring as I write this,
and tip-toes off to lie
in the cool tall grass
on the other side of the house
as a car blaring Peter Frampton
loudly drives by.