This is one of my poems--The Farm Cats. When I drive home from work at night, I often see one or two farm cats sitting perilously close to the road. I often wonder about their lives.
Where do the farm cats go when it rains?
In the absence of moonlight, do they get lost in the maze?
Do they hunker down among the aging corn,
with their fur puffed up and their eyes squeezed shut
or do they stick out their tongues
to catch the raindrops and splash in the puddles
while the farmer is sits inside