Salty Old Fisherman 

My old, black cat jumped
up on my lap and nudged

my arm with his head,
forcing me to lift my hand and pet him.

He snuggled against the bony
crook of my arm and purred

Like a starving kitten,
his white oval paws kneaded

my soft stomach. I gazed
into the pools of his hollow slanted eyes,

dreamy from dozing, and wondered
if he had any real affection to

share with me, I searched in vain
for a spark of real love, genuine connection.

I knew the salty old fisherman
had a catch on the line–and

was just reeling in another
dish of fish and bowl of cream.

October 8, 2006