In which Albert is a sponge

The vet says that the strange imbalance in Albert’s pupils is not a sign that he’s on kitty dope, but if that’s true, why does he sit in the water fountain?

These are the questions that fuel science.

(Excerpt from an old poem)


Woodpeckers morse the neighbor maple, frilled
against the grey cool days, the old birds dying.

Then came stalking times when all but Albert
found the screen holes and birds flung themselves
just out of reach.

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