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At swimming once,I went to turn from front to backand just kept turning,just kept turning,turning over,over and over,till the swimming teacher said,
Dog in the playground:Oh, no he don’t.He’ll come with me,You see if he won’t.
I feel it, first as a stir,turning deep in the murky water.Surfaces up for air, a twitchon the lake in my head.A flip, and it disappears.
We watch them, hypnotized.Pale and mysterious,They rise and fall. Joe says“They look like ghosts.”
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;
I am a crocodile who lost my smile in the turbulent waters of the Nile.When I was very small, trapped inside my crocodile egg,
Midnight. A knock at the door.Open it? Better had.Three heavy cats, mean and bad.
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.
When I was bornI was a familiar,a black cat, Satan’s favourite form.
Next life – I was in a roomyou couldn’t swing a cat in.Outside it was raining cats and dogs.