3 o’clock in the office
I feel like yawning a lot.
So taking the long route through
To the coffee machine I trot.
The office has secret passages
Unbarred, oldish windows;
Strips of the busy old city
Each one of them shows.
Further afield are rooftops
Tin tiles, dirty, broken;
Every time I look out
I hunt for a feline token.
On dirty, broken rooftops,
You have to have a cat;
Hunting for his dinner
Or just smugly sat.
Imagine my pleasure
When today I found
Not one but two – black and white –
On that rooftop ground.
The white seemed to be a tomcat
The black a plumpish girl;
She sat down for some grooming
Her tail in a casual curl.
He seemed hesitating
Waiting, watching her
Although all her attention
Was given to her fur.
Then very tentatively
Tom did attempt a kiss
Smack! She jumped and slapped him
With an angry hiss.
“Seize the moment,” I read
Not backward neither forward;
Peace must be here and now
That’s the crucial word.
So I saw the moment
This winter afternoon;
In the midst of crammed addresses
A moment of rare commune.
England, tarry awhile
This, here, is my city:
Busy, noisy, thriving
Not very serene or pretty.
But here in a nook, a corner
Amazing moment was that:
Calm in the midst of bustle
And one black, one white cat.
(Image copyright does not belong to me; words’ copyright does. So there.)