JOECAT

Joe cat,

assembled and ready to lurch,

waits behind the door.

All inside

the silence breaks.

No footfalls,

or voices,

still cupboards,

no light through the crack in the wood.

If ever the time for it is now,

it’s now

the cat can pounce on it,

and twist and fall and

pounce again a few.

And finally loose the turning knob,

and patter past the door swung wide,

to flee the cold

that follows swift behind.

And to quicken pace

and flee again the voice,

intruding on intrusion,

a bellow,

“Who left the door open?”

while Joecat

assembles again on the soft

and sleeps.

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