bobcat talking

we all went down to make offerings
to the bird feeder before leaving. a radio talks
about the future. it says,
"enjoy the next thirty years at most."
stop at a shoulder town.
rusted gas station. 
i try to not get too depressed 
but then i see a bobcat eating microwave 
breakfast sandwiches & i think
"where is the world going?"
i ask him if he will please wild-animal on me.
he says he's given that up & now
he sells insurance to already-dead parrots.
all around the woods is neon
& noiseless. i used to hike & make notches on trees
to remember my pathway. it is delightful
being alone sometimes. i always see myself
as a pupil in a sea of my own strawberries. 
eating the blinked word away.
let's wash our hands. let's knock
on the doors of neighbors who aren't home.
i miss my house in the middle of nowhere.
the raccoons would come with sudoku in hand.
we would talk into the night about hobbies
none of us had time for. the bobcat 
has a box of mike & ikes so we split them.
i say, "you could still chow down on me
if you wanted to." he shrugs. 
the geese above are holograms or
possibly a government experiment. 
he licks his paws. i scroll on my phone.
the gas station we're sitting at has 
no other cars but mine. he points up
to a tree nearby. a woodpecker pounds the trunk
& i feel moved to tears. he says,
"that is an omen." it is better not to ask
what the omen is of. before i leave
i take a picture of him & he poses feral for me.
the woodpecker knocks. a trap door 
to the afterlife. smell of gasoline & plastic. 
a man sings about microwave pizza
on the gravel-throat radio.