Old Tom Poem by Donal Mahoney
Old Tom
I've fed Old Tom for many years
with never any thanks,
not one meow.
He arrives at night with eyes ablaze.
I crack the door and slide a tin
of Fancy Feast
across the deck toward him like a puck.
He hunkers on the railing till
I lock up. Then he pounces.
The tin's a mouse, you see,
and now he knows
it's time to eat.
Friday, December 6, 2013
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4/18/2024 6:27:08 PM # 1.0.0.1119
