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