Old Tom
Old Tom
I've fed Old Tom
for many years
with never any thanks,
not one meow.
He comes 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 finally
it's time to eat.
Donal Mahoney
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