My
neighbour tends to buy me plaques
ornamental garden ones
metal versions of the creatures that stalk my garden.
There’s the
pink cat on the back fence
paw
perpetually poised
but doomed to
never catch its prey
And below him the
butterfly pinned
in seasons’ rusted hues, wings extended at full span
graced to
ever evade pink cat’s maw.
I have
added to these a quartet of cats
in a neat row
but facing backwards
tails curled for an adventure never to be embarked upon
Much like Yeats' birds of hammered gold
eternally endeavouring
to keep that drowsy emperor awake
All this straining futility, immortal as it is,
is enough to
remind me to savour
this
morning’s breakfast tea and toast.
Copyright 2024 Cathy Leonard All rights reserved
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