ANATOMY OF A WEEKDAY NAP

noon
or thereabouts

i stretch out
i whistle for the cat

he comes
belly wobbles
squeaks jumping up to the bed
lays down

lays down
like my 
little spoon

i bury my face
in the fur
of his tiny shoulders

he smells animal clean
he smells like home

he purrs 
he ramps it up to a kind of double purr
like he might burst

then he quiets
a nostril whistles

his head sinks
an asthmatic snore
an adorable sideways wriggle

and i drift then too
him in my arms

both of us 
trembling
with dreams

pic by mango-tango monkey-pajamas

NEVER LEAVE YOUR TYPER UNATTENDED

NEWS IS A BLACK DOG HUMPING MY LEG

   8.30 AM
 the cat pads across the quilt
   he puts a paw of claws
 gently into my cheek
  like its my  ON  button

 tick tock its injection o clock

       i say 
     i'm on it fella 
  it comes out as a morning growl
   he is patient
  he is used to waiting  for me 
      as i slowly 
     fall out 
    of my dreams

  i fold myself out the bed
 like a collapsing deckchair 
    i walk to the kitchen
  my legs like dry wood

     i puncture his scruff 
 with a needle again
      he is very good
     he is completely still
 and in the smudge of sun on the lino
  he is a wonderful black-brown today

      i realise he is part of me
       those kitten eyes at 17
          his neat paws
    part of our life and day

 i manage to brew a coffee
     i manage to check the news . . . 

 . . . i am back under the quilt
    wondering why the govt this
      and why the govt that
       and why i even looked
     and what did i exactly expect to find
            in the 
           phone screen
         poptart 
           headlines ?

    the black-brown cat
  has had a drink of filtered water
   had eaten his renal biscuits
       is padding up the quilt
        curling into a circle
    resting his back and warmth
     against the pain in my hips

 i rest a hand on his miniature shoulders

        i still find it a wonder
    that this little naked animal
       likes me so much
      
         soon he is snoring
  like apnea like asthma like a tractor
    no news needed

STREETS FILLED

street night lights
glow the room
in angles and tangents
and
carnival 
slow shadows

machine pump noise fills the room
with comfort
between
the
crashbangs
of kids and cars
from the trolley rattle street
of
leather jacket cabs
and
new sirens

i hug her for strength 
and existential confirmation
in
the
waking dream night
filled
with street lions
and a tired inner buddhist

and
her small toy tractor snores
sweeten
the 
strange
city