Pets

by Sharon Black

Young man, small girl, three or four, blond hair     
in barrettes, table next to ours, 

his Pelforth, glass still full,
her last half-inch of cordial, scooping out

the ice cubes with her hands. 
Mummy’s going to get a cat? 

Her dad is deep in texting. She looks at him.     
Mummy’s going to get a cat in her house? 

His fingers jab the screen.
She chews a yellow straw, adjusts it so 

it sticks from both sides of her mouth. 
Daddy, who’ll look after it?