By Paul Bluestein


Sleeping side by side, curled  
like commas on the couch, 
they are pauses in the 
run-on sentence of the day

until a knock at the door 
awakens the instincts of
generations of ancestors.

Chance, sunlit and shiny black, 
runs, stretched out
like an arrowed exclamation point!
The GingerBear, all red fur and attitude, 
warns off the trespasser.

They are companions,
a pack of two.
Sentries, standing guard 
against cats, grackles
and the postman.

photo by Sinitta Leunen