Chambers

In my grandmother’s house
was a ginger cat, too fat
to walk, which no one admitted
ever feeding

Seven months and
still not showing

I have to shuffle my feet
through the soft lolling bodies
to bang on the roof, stop.
I can feel blood and fur
drying on my ankles as
I get out of the tray to piss

In the graded paddock
there’s nowhere to hide

I hear the returned focus as
behind me the torches catch
another set of eyes, sharp
cracks and ricochet fracture
the hard night

A cat, feral, screaming
now, sharpening
the air with pain
now and the boys
are laughing as I walk
back

Your face pale and
tight as the moon
I grab your gun

push past the boys elbowing
each other proudly and aim
at its head

As it slumps, the silence
releases us. You’re smiling
at your Dad, who’s jumping
around like a shot
rabbit- Jeez she can shoot
-My lad knocked up
a good one.

For what it means,
I grew up with guns