It's Still Life

The Cat Questions the Daffodil (A Floral Inquiry)

The cat sits in the morning sun,
one paw delicately touching a yellow petal
as if it might bite back.

“Daffodils,” he enunciates,
slowly,
testing the word like a suspicious piece of chicken,

“Who decided?
Who looked at this…
yellow trumpet on a twig
and thought,
‘Yes. Daffodil. Good name.’

Certainly not a cat.
A cat would have called it
‘Outside Thing That Is Not Food But Worth Batting.’

Or ‘Electrical Banana’
Or ‘The Thing That Grows Where I Tried to Bury Your Alarm Clock’”

The Old Woman sips her tea.
“The Romans called it ‘asphodelus.’
The Greeks had a myth about it.”

The cat squints.

“The Greeks.
Of course.
So it wasn’t even the English.
It was people
with not enough cats
to tell them
‘That’s a stupid name, Dave.’”

He flicks the daffodil gently.
It bobs.
He narrows his eyes.

“Fine.
I shall allow it.
But only because
it’s yellow,
and yellow is almost
as good as
‘Call Me Mellow Yellow.’

But if I ever meet a Greek,
we’re going to have words.”