Herbert And The Cats
Old Herbert, hater of the feline species
Nearly got one at twenty feet with a schnapps bottle;
these hairy rats piss on my cauliflowers
he winded through yellow molars.
That was a Tuesday, a wet one.
Been in the garage again, these smellies,
I heard them coughing between the tyres;
the doors have more scratches than Gran`s glasses.
The postman, an outsider to the human race, must
have let them in. Send em back to Egypt, these purrers.
That was Thursday; better weather.
The cats must have killed him.
As brave streeters we lined up at the funeral.
We all slightly lifted a leg in his honour, without scorn.
Might have been a Friday, but I`m not sure now.
Leslie Philibert's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Herbert And The Cats by Leslie Philibert )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley
Did you read them?
- Sleep now, hasmukh amathalal
- OUR NEIGHBOR'S BABY, MOHAMMAD SKATI
- Older, Younger, Both, Joyce Sutphen
- Living in the Body, Joyce Sutphen
- Beggar thy Neighbor, John F. McCullagh
- In Black, Joyce Sutphen
- Ever After, Joyce Sutphen
- Miracle entry, hasmukh amathalal
- Evening Angelus, Joyce Sutphen
- Casino, Joyce Sutphen