Tuesday, January 7, 2014

Cats

They stand by my window

when a fish is fried


or marinated with minnows


slithering in onion orbs smothered,


the three blades of exhaust fan


vacillate to fill barren beads of oxygen


with their favourite fragrance


they climb onto the broken furniture





abashed in our backyard


curl their toes on plastic paper


in a thoughtless thanking


for bidding comfort from rains.


They catch flies and swell with


hollow hubris when predators bury


their burden in the


brown of the earth,


they barge through gullible grills


slurping milk for the child


with a smile so content


that raises their whiskers


in sheepish apology for a fluffy fault


and on lonely nights


they whine and tell you


that slumber is the daughter of death.



RLP Award 2013 Longlist

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