Two Poems

Some People’s Kids

What was that cat’s name?
Scaredy?  He looked like a kitten
well into his young adult life.
A permanently startled look,
pale orange hair on end,
he jumped in the air
fighting with his reflection
until that mirror broke.

How about those fish? Every single one
named Al?  So expensive too,
forty bucks for the one that hid
in the hollow, slimy skull.
Their gills gasped with fright
from a tap on the glass.
I kept them in a safe world
until that aquarium cracked, then burst.

And that crazy sparrow?
How did it trap itself?
That scream-chirping thing,
jumping from top of the fridge,
tough little wings whooshing,
it flew against the window
until it broke its damn neck;
all the doors were wide open.


Throw Away The Key

She doesn’t want to answer the door this time.
Promises slide under the door like a bad news letter
Why open it?

Peep-hole face bobs , a ridiculous sudden flower
that makes her think why is it here?
She doesn’t want to answer the door this time.

Not much between them now. Pressed pine, short brass chain,
Five dollar bolt, two sides of a dead story,
she doesn’t want to answer the door.

Sirens wail below, traffic parts like the red sea.
The window looks good, with a clear honest view. 
Why not open it?
Invisible elevator, feet first, through a tree, past a bird.
Reports claimed the impact was so great she ate her own shoes.
She wasn't going to answer that door again.

—Yvonne M. Estrada, Los Angeles, CA