“Stray or Bum”
by Carolyn Hunter
How long can they talk about cats?
Their posts on Facebook of their cats?
It's been an hour now.
One of them shaved their cat like a poodle.
Wealth dripping from their clothing.
And they spend an hour talking about cats.
The light reflects off the wall
The bum sits outside in the cold
They are cozy.
The women go to the ladies room
The bum pisses in the street just outside
the hotel that keeps them:
protected
inside
Protected from the weather. Protected from poverty.
Protected from the ravenous hunger
The bum must have in the pit of his stomach.
If they took in a stray cat, tangled and torn; bum of the cat tribe.
Why do they not take in the bum; bum of the human tribe.
I would take in the stray cat.
Yet, I wouldn't take in the stray bum.
I am no different than the ones
who spent an hour talking about their cats.
I don' like that.
I would take in the cat and not the man; Stray and not Bum.
What would you do?
One and not the other?
both?
Or maybe:
none.
The stray and not the bum.
The stray and not the bum.
The cat
and not
the man
A cat and not a person
We would rather care for
Not the 'who' but the 'what'
Now it's quiet
they've gone to their rooms
As I will to mine
After the last sip of wine.
The bum
Still we do nothing.
None of us.
We
Do
Nothing
I. Do. Nothing.
And the bum? Nestles into his worn coat waiting.
Waiting.
For something.
