Poem at 4.43 pm

I’m ready now to leave the house.

My dressing gown

thrown on the bed.

I knew she’d go for that

and make her own bed.

 

And she knew I was watching her closely.

Nearby lay my Sunday best clothes,

just as tempting to her. Her claws

go out to them. It was not

easy to do; shoo her away.

And relenting she went back

to her favourite anyway.

 

Here is her church of thankfulness.

I go to commune with my friends

knowing she’ll stay here the rest

of the day. And we’ll both

have made prayers of gratitude.

 

Her devotion is unbearable.

It is now late in the day.

How favourite can my

dressing gown be

to my little cat?

 

Benita H. Kape © 20.1.2019

 

DSC02199.JPG

 

Influence for this poem from the lines “Do cats pray when they sleep?” Mary Oliver

Poem I Happen To Be Standing

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