The Cat Lady

on high they wait
the crisp-munching wooden tops concretise
metallic as the sound of trod glass the air-con sodden
mock the cat lady..

on high they wait
peer to peer slyly reviewing one another one another
lunching eyelids within their asbestos lozenge office safe-space
lean leer preen await..

for every day around the same time she walks out her front door
she taps a wooden spoon on her gate
a pleasing jazz fill lifts the air taptaptap..taptaptap..
beholding low and half-ducked behind their reflecting windows
the more sarcastic techno bats on shrill pane echo that back..

they witness two happy cats skip
joyfully she lifts and carries them both inside
some say oohhh and some say aawww
some call her the cat lady
and that seems to be the highlight of their working day..

only one time she looked up and waved at them
and one man warmly smiled and furtively waved back..