Cicada Cat

On our last night we met at Burrito 

Brothers in Dupont Circle to walk up 

Connecticut, stopping on Taft Bridge to 

Take mental pictures—the lush green of Rock 

Creek Park in the hazy August sunset—

Then over to National Cathedral, 

Sweating the whole way.  In those dark alleys, 

Thick with vines and shadows, a symphony 

Of insects played their ancient repertoire 

Louder than the traffic on Wisconsin.  

We watched that cat jump to catch cicadas 

Within street light’s florescent cone.  She held 

Them under paws, patting to get their buzz, 

Ate them with a discernible crunching.