The black and white cat
a friend of my daughter's
Let lounge on her bed, never had enough food.
When Tesco bags staggered in weekly, rustled,
She fell on the feast with the girl, her brothers
Who swung her round roughly. A kitten displaced her,
I went to collect her; she was all ears
Tuned like a bat to the hungry horizons.
She wolfed a plate; slept. She is sleek, her four years
Smooth on pied shoulders, as though she changed rags
For furred, rich collars, the manager's coat.
Doors click; her ears flick. She cries in her throat.
Lost in our hall, she rips open the bags.
If you've any comments on
this poem, Alison Brackenbury would be pleased to hear from you.