On Cat Boxes and Laundry

She looks at me

Big green eyes made smaller, slightly,

slighting me a little.

I know she’s thinking

Why the fuck the dog

Gets fresh-cooked chicken

In extra virgin olive oil

While I scoop what we call

“chinese food” in her bowl.

A small helping

Of essentially nutritionless

Sawdust and pulp.

The package says chicken

But we aren’t entirely sure she

Isn’t eating cat

At ninety-nine cents a bag.

And I know she figures

If the dog does something annoying--

Say, persistent whooping cough

Or whining as bulbous glaucoma

Squeezes out her eye--

And gets a treat

Maybe she’ll receive the same.

So she stares at my mom—

The queen of the house—

As she enters into her bed chamber

And squats

To piss

On the queen’s

very treasured

Crown

pillow.