Chainlink Tanka

for the Jerk Next Door

Our neighbour hates cats,

wants ours off his property

or else he’ll bait traps —

as if cats understand yards,

the terrible leash of words.

I tell him if he

so much as touches our cats,

I’ll beat him senseless,

and we bark at each other

over the back fence.

The guy’s an asshole

surrounded by cat lovers,

thinks ours are the ones

responsible for the shit

he finds in his flower beds.

Maybe I should coil

a mainspring on his front lawn,

gather our dog’s shit,

fling it on his roof one night,

tell him it’s airplane flushings.

We’re responsible:

the cats are both neutered, nice.

they don’t caterwaul,

get into battle royals

the way the two of us do.

Carotids bulging,

we strain at our own leashes,

want nothing so much

as the opportunity

to rip each other’s throats out.

bergamot’s bolted —

blossoms at their nadir now;

still, the last bees

are busy as candy stripers

among the pink petals

Canada Day —

in the sky above the lake

chrysanthemum blooms

and umbrella tracer plumes;

old guy rhymes with July

megaphone blooms

of the day lilies blare

while a butterfly flutters —

white-gloved hands

above a cocktail glass

little windfall apples —

green cherry bombs,

each with unlit fuse,

litter the lawn between us,

and here come the ants

(for Rob and Gloria)

among windfall wasps

one stalwart butterfly

spreads its wings:

even the sodden lawn chair

offers expirant heat

at the farthest reach

of my watering

hose stream

a cabbage white

flutters a while

at Chapters —

a friend’s survival memoir

greets me from the shelves.

a small copper butterfly

hovers over a blossom

Leddy Headbutter —

named after his feline

way with the blues:

I’ve done carousing. Wake up.

You can pet me, feed me now.