[one of my rare adventures in free verse]
Garden Games With Harley.
Sara L. Russell, 14th May, 2004.
Just as is the way with dogs,
cats run for sticks.
But they don’t bring them back.
Me run behind bush now;
You wait there,
He runs behind a bush,
one end of the stick clamped possessively in his mouth
and the long end trailing behind him.
…Fifteen minutes later,
I prise the stick from his
The stick breaks, I pick up a longer one,
trail it along the ground.
He runs in demented circles,
attacks bare grass after the stick has left,
runs into the side of a tree, shakes his head
and runs on.
For a moment, I stop the stick’s movement.
He ponders this new development,
ears pointing down,
whiskers pointing down.
Next door, someone crackles a refuse bin liner.
He jumps three feet vertically,
in the style of a Harrier Jet
and runs away.
Poetry Life & Times
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|Reviewed by Jerry Bolton (Reader)
|A delightful romp in the finest "Are we on camera yet?" attitude. Cats are rather hateful, wouldn't you agree?|
|Reviewed by A Serviceable Villain
|Wonderful write - fine prose...I thoroughly enjoyed!|
|Reviewed by Ian Thorpe
|I misread the title first time and thought "oh no, she's been molesting garden gnomes." But you were just molesting Harley and he can look after himself. I enjoyed this coz it reminded me of my favourite cat (and Harley lookalike) 'erbert.|
|Reviewed by ya mama (Reader)
|great write sara|