Weeks of detritus on the step
and you, you odd invention; part of which
a couple of springs; one for your neck
and one even stranger from which
your animal tail can swing. Your tin
body, your amazing ears and cheeks;
funny stiff legs. Your googly eyes:
knowing that a small flick and I can
make your head nod, nod, nod. (We are
in agreement then.) Whiskers, far too stiff
to be sensitive. I love your warped comedy
as much as I love any cat I have ever owned.
You’ll be around through the lifetimes of
the several cat lives this household has now
and will treasure in the possible future.
You are going nowhere. But I promise I’ll
sweep the step in the morning and water
the plants. And in spite of yourself,
there’ll be some nodding going on.
So why do I love you and love you
with a contrariness? Well, that’s because
my sister it was who shared your name.
She’d be appalled at that. I had hoped
you would have amused her. Not so.
But it goes without saying, you amuse me.
To give you away would be, in some strange
way, to give away a part of a very dear sister.
And nod, nod to that – no can do.
Benita Kape © 12.4.2019
Prompt Day 12: Write a poem about a dull thing you own and why and how you love it. Alternatively, what would it mean to you to give away or destroy a significant object. (I actually do not find my metal cat dull.)