Whispers

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On having a musical neighbour

Early morning mist
from behind a blackthorn hedge
a guitar whispers

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Titles

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‘Grampi’
‘Yes’
‘Mum said you were a pissytarian, Mum said’
‘Mmm’
‘Yes, ’cause you only eat fish’
‘Perhaps she said, ‘piscatarian’?’
‘That’s right, pissytarian’
‘OK’

Feline

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Neighbours cat is thin, gaunt in fact.
He moves stiffly through his silent world
intent on getting to his next comfortable spot
wearing a ‘Please don’t feed me’ collar
to deter philanthropists, like me
who are tempted to overlook his kidney problems.
I dread that approaching day
when he is taken for the final
vets visit.
Please Fate, let him have at least
this one last, contented summer
a fine feline in the warm sun