Eating a Stilton sandwich
in deep dusk, color-draining
dark green of foliage,
slating blue-grey sky,
something peripheral,
my quick eye caught -
froze him mid-move,
ghosting out of covert
at the very back corner,
white chest and smoke-
striped head, pale paw
tentative, poised
about to be placed down
(under wide eyes lidding)
withdrawing as slowly
smoothly his body back,
ghost-gone - and that's
the that of it. Understood.
Knows full well he's banned,
must wait for my absence
to trespass with impunity.
Spooked him, my eccentricity -
cheese-eater at dusky table.
I always knew that dark covert
held eyes behind palmate leaves:
goblin, cat - not much difference
as I sees it, says I.
..
YOU ARE READING
Keep The Home Fires Burning
PoetryA poetry Collection. Now Lunk has taken to his bed, swearing not to write one more word about C, and muttering 'bloody garden', it behoves (Love that word, don't you?) me (and Anima) to fill out his shoes, with soil and flower seed. So we will be 'e...
