I’ll give you the T-shirt
I found with a cartoon cat on the front,
drawn to appear
like the cat has poked its head
out the patch pocket.
I don’t trust Manila’s
postal service—nor Alabama’s
postal service—
to deliver the gift in this lifetime;
so I’ll keep it
in a drawer
[like a ticket untorn]
until we meet again,
in some park, in some city, in the open air—
where you drape the shirt across
your chest,
sizing it up, having a laugh, and we
embrace,
with this stupid-looking cat
pressed
between your heart
and mine.