Found

My wife waits for a caterpillar

to crawl upon her palm so she

can carry it out of the street

and into the green subdivision

of a tree.

Yesterday she coaxed a spider

into a juicier corner. The day

before she hazed a snail

in a half-circle, so he wouldn't

have to crawl all the way

around the world and be 2,000

years late for dinner.

I want her to hurry up and pay

attention to me or go where I

want to go until I remember

the night she found me wet

and limping, felt for a collar

and tags, then put me in

the truck where it was warm.

Without her, I wouldn't

be standing here in these

snazzy alligator shoes.

Ron Koertge, Iodine Poetry Journal (no other information found)