The Dutch rabbit
sits on the dresser,
head tilted down,
admiring the fur feathering
at the tips of her creme-colored toes
before her gaze falls upon

the gray fox,
wiry and wild-eyed,
proud of his voluminous tail
and maybe just a little bit wicked
as he looks across the room
to the desk where

the wombat lounges,
lazy and stout,
eyes closed,
claws resting across a broad belly,
satisfied without a care in the world,
yet his nose twitches,
sensing the proximity of

the ringtail,
whiskers like stiff corn silk
appearing just over the edge of the desk,
quivering in anticipation of mischief-making,
conscious that she is being surveilled
from the top of the corner bookcase by

the cat,
black as pitch,
standing sentinel,
watching with eyes of blue-green phosphor,
waiting for you to come home.

An MFA candidate at Arcadia University, Philip Andrew Lisi lives in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, where he teaches English by day and writes poetry and flash fiction by night alongside the ghost of his cantankerous Wichienmaat cat, Sela.