Frank Cooper and Me

He senses my melancholia –
my marmalade moggy...
who’s been everywhere
it seems...

down the rabbit hole
with Alice, and the North Pole
with Scott...survived

for years, so it was discovered
preserved in ice. And so,
in total awe of him

breathe in his essence
pine cones, moss and wet leaves;
a certain smokiness, like
a distant bonfire.

Lame in one leg...flea-bitten
ears, but home, sweet home,
to his pesky mites.

Stares me out – those eyes
of purest ambergris...
flexes his claws on my knee...

I bleed, but the merest trickle.
I’d give anything for someone
to love me like that...when it hurts
but only a little.

He melts into my lap,
nudging my hand
with his head – his way
of cajoling me to pet him...

and it works, boy oh boy
does it work every time...
sucker that I am.

And there we are, just
to the two of us listening
to the rain, reaching
for the sun...

as good
as it gets, for him,
and me.