Siren of the Streets by Donal Mahoney

 

 Photo by Carol Bales

Whenever she comes by

it's always the same thing.

I make her comfortable

and then she leaves. 

I tell her she's a harlot 

hooking up all night 

with God knows who 

but in her case God

looks the other way.

Curious neighbors 

ask if I know her.  

I ask them do I look 

like that kind of man?

Peter denied Christ thrice

but I make Peter a piker

when it comes to denying 

this siren of the streets.

Once in a while a neighbor,

smitten as I am, takes her in

because she's attractive

and it's peaceful until

some morning very early

she's on my deck again

heartbroken, forlorn,

willing to do anything

for a nosh and a drink. 

Since no one is up

at that hour to see me 

I sit on the deck

and she leaps on my lap

and I stroke her until

she's a Lamborghini 

purring at a red light. 

Then she drives off,

leaving me on the deck

heartbroken, forlorn.

She must have been spayed.

Never had any kittens. 

What might Pope Francis 

think about this?

Her kittens, after all,

would have been beautiful 

just as she is,

harlot or not.