The next-door neighbour’s cat had
done a vomit on the garden path. It was bright orange like its fur had been
in clots and lumps it urged upwards like a comedy ornament of the mountains of Salt Lake City
the cat lay down and marvelled at it,
body slumped next to it, exhausted with its own creation
My child its eyes said
My child, you have broken me
grandma took too long chatting with the neighbours, chat chat chat, impatient
with them talking about the cat cat cat
I remember staring at her knees
and his knees
and looking back at the vomit
and thinking ‘we should be going to see a tiger today’.
but instead I sat on the pavement and
bored, plopped stones into the tiny holes in the car tyres
and heard them rattle like bronchitis in the cavity.
we had to get new tyres
and we never saw the tiger that weekend
but the vomit stayed for days.
Alice is a 25 year old freelance writer from Kent and spends most of her time trying to get people to swim in the sea with her. When she isn't doing that, she writes poetry in her bedroom and sometimes plays the ukulele.