All this week I seem to be floating 

from one important meeting to the next. 

The cat tries to inform me the dish 

is empty.  The paper-lady drives 

her immense van backwards down the street, 

reaching over her shoulder where her son 

keeps handing up the day’s news, wrapped 

in plastic for its brief flight out the window.   


How could you be so many 

hundreds of miles away? 


I should not complain—and believe me, 

most of the time I don’t—but this stretch 

of weather, its weary piles of snow 

slumped on each street corner 

into April, is reason enough. 


I have the cat’s attention, or what’s left 

of it. Now he is asleep on the couch, 

curled tight against my legs. 

He barely lifts his head, doesn’t 

turn when my phone rings at last, 

and it’s you at the other end 

of the day, down the eastern 

seaboard in sunny FL, 

five meetings with other people 

closer to your flight home. 


So there’s half of today, 

tomorrow, and most of Friday 

to get through till you return.   

The cat keeps trying to herd me 

toward the empty dish, but I’ll have 

none of it. I’d get up if I weren’t so busy 

trying to make this small tree grow.



David McCann taught Korean literature until retiring 2 years ago. His new collection, Same Bird, was published by Moon Pie Press in 2016.