Feline Olympian
From the foyer tile floor leaping
halfway up the spirling stairs,
between the wooden railing bars,
no hurdles, no sounding thumps;
then staring down, it's just a daily
repeated ritual jump.
No bronze, gold, silver medal
promised or applause,
no cheering family, flag waving,
even no national anthem...
height metric, decimal delineation, peering,
You come up, it's time you joined
me on the bed, TV watching time!
I can manoeuvre on gymnastic
equipment, even gnaw,
teeth grinding,
at an insect silently wait to strike,
it's very nice...
chew and shake toy mice, once,
twice, trice through the night.
I have no trainer, no clown's
uniform, an identification collar.
Sometimes the outside calls,
a chipmunk, a squirrel, a bird, a leaf...
feline curiosity's an instinctual
ritual - mild seasons most of all.
My many feral relatives, hungry,
ill, searching garbage cans.
Like human Olympians, I'm not bothered,
that's their fate.
Alas I'm cunning, athletic natural;
but never taught to hate.
August 2004
Author: Roy Schoenberg - Bay Shore, New York, USA
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