New Year's Eve

She's just minding her own business
as she slips through shadowed streets
indifferent and independent
in spite of the saucer of meats
that's waiting when she gets home
sometime
         next year
                   maybe

Passing by the revellers
most don't notice her at all
too busy making merry resolutions
as from bar to bar they crawl
in companionable clusters
of celebrants
         in the wake
                   of a dying year

light footed small and silent
pads through the kaleidoscope
of colours splashed on precipitation
no Pollock could ever hope to equal
a communal
         countdown
                   commences

She pauses on the threshold
of an arbitrary event
devoid of meaning for felines
green eyes stare into a future
personal
         private
                   perfect

Just a cat in the rain on New Year's Eve

Line Count: 31.

Written for the Writers Cramp 29th December 2021

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