by Niamh Twomey
Mostly I鈥檓 lonely
From nighttime to morning time.
The problem is
There鈥檚 no pets allowed
In the house
And the garden
Is half a short stride squared.
鈥淣o room to swing a cat鈥�-
Not that I would want to,
I鈥檇 rather pour old milk
In a bowl on the floor
And watch it lap it up
And call it Bubbles.
And come home to find it
Snoozing on my bed
Like the loveliest pillow.
And leave the house
With its fur on my coat,
Reminding me
To come back soon
Because someone is waiting.
Quarryman
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