When they were young, She kept wicket for her brothers, They batted, Bowled, Padded up And ratcheted up the score. She crouched behind the stumps Keeping wicket.
The china is in smithereens before our tea has even brewed but it hardly matters. Minotaur is half bull and a little clumsy but bigger things have been shattered,
The seagulls are doing their dance again – Wings clasped to their sides, they stare up the street. Up and down, up and down, go their knobbly pink knees;
Teach me the language of Cat; the slow-motion blink, that crystal stare, a tight-lipped purr and a wide-mouthed hiss. Let me walk with a saunter, nose in the air.