something concrete

I left the back door open
to teach the cat decision
making. she, in the morning
is an alarm clock, 
a pesky mother
I went out til two
a merlot bar room
single candle winking
my friend, pinned hair 
cradled a whisky
I gulped pear cider and felt 
I like the gap between 
her bottom teeth
and how she doesn’t laugh
on cue
unlike me, grinning before
the punch line. hoping
it shows politeness
we talk in turns and I
wring fingers, skimming
the topic of my bleating brain
how it
lately cowers at thoughts
of universal things
like planets
and booming sounds
she smiles 
tiny white pearl shards
I ask her if she had dental
work. like what? fillings.
yeah. no, she says
but explains the process
it sounds like art.
sculpting. shrunken versions 
of Venetian treasures
sighted on her vacation there
the steps it seems,
though tiny scale
deliver something concrete