pet

Every day, as we drive past the quiet streets,
I scan the pavements, the hollow kerbs,
hoping to glimpse a flicker of fur,
a little shadow waiting by the roadside.
My head knows I won’t find you there,
but my heart still holds on to hope.

Every evening, stepping from the bus,
I turn my gaze to the ginnel’s glow,
orange streetlights casting ghosts on the stones,
hoping to see a little shadow bounding from the dark.
My head knows I won’t find you there,
but my heart still holds on to hope.

In dreams, I see your little face once more,
Bright brown eyes alive with trusting light.
Your soft mews echo, a tender, fleeting balm,
And your purr lulls my heart into warmth again.

But dreams fracture; shadows flood the peace,
A cold December night claws at my mind.
A cry for help, your frail frame in my arms,
Breath hitching, blood stealing what should be yours.
One final gasp, and your body stills,
A patchwork coat soaked in my falling tears.