By Deborah Walker
mewling at the air shaft,
scratching at the metal-glass windows
with their asteroid pocked claws,
insisting on coming inside.
I am the only pilchard in this tin
So lonely, so alone.
Flying though the Bast nebula
which hangs like a golden eye in the face
of these endless badlands.
The sleeting radiation washes over me
like crazy rain.
Galactic kitties don’t like getting wet.