I don’t really like cats but
I must admit
quite freely
they do feel rather pleasant
under my wheels
when
they pop and burst their innards
sad oily fat-finger sausages
all mince and sawdust
spoiling my lunch
But I always go back later
to a growing collection
hoping that some stranger has
followed my tracks and
impressed upon them their
own peculiar opinion about
the state of play
the weather or
the like
at home
I hang them to dry
these flat little chums
sundried Macavity
Ginger or
Snuff
potpourri showbags they
pretty my shed with
their follow-you eyes
all ready for sewing
I wear my cat-coat often
colourful Joe in a
furball suit
singing songs from Cats but
dropping the plot
out
out there in the fields where
the wild things are
I don’t like cats but
they make good hats
Adelaide Poets 