Harvey

Harvey waits on the corner,

waits patiently for his chum.

It's another bright and sunny day

and there's much loafing to be done.

 

He looks down at a raised front paw

as if wearily consulting his watch,

as they begin to ring the changes

inside the Parish Church of St Morlock's.

 

Cats can make a man whole.

This band of furry rebel-rousers

bring peace unto his soul

and leave hair upon his trousers.

 

Oh, to be a cat!

To have that total freedom of doing

just whatever it is you want

(Mainly eating, sleeping and mewing).

 

Harvey waits on the corner.

A study in feline stillness.

But there's something in the air -

A single whisker twitches.

 

Suddenly the day fills with grey,

flying in like a V-shaped depression,

an incoming squadron

of a lost decade of black pants.
An impertinent wind shakes the trees
and blows ASDA carrier bags
(the ubiquitous tumbleweed of Shipley)
hither, and to a lesser extent, thither.

And, in that moment,
everything is changed for me
and a little white and ginger moggy.
The bells cannot ring.
The birds cease to sing
for there is no suitable song.
I'm sorry, Harvey.
Things will never be the same again
now St John's gone.

B.R. 08/08/2014