Friday morning and having
no grand design or marble statue
to write a poem about
I look out my front window-
where Kit is hunkered beneath the white beam
his one eye cocked on a wood pigeon
sitting on a high rise wire observing-
cars breaking, halting and reversing,
angling around lorries delivering
bricks and mortar to our neighbour's garden,
and kids on bikes schoolward bound,
speed lines flying from their spokes
as if they were in the final stage of La Vuelta.
The white beam shakes its berried boughs
and pigeon ascends to the highest branch,
while around the tree trunk a cat's tail
is snaking upwards.
Seriously,
how far does he think he's going to get?
What with his one eye and two pins in his hip
and his nine lives already spent?
Copyright 2026 Cathy Leonard
No comments:
Post a Comment