Andrew John Poet Free verse

We Go So Fur

You’re so much artificial fur.
You, little bear, do not communicate,
not a word, not a single utterance.
Yet I speak to you, tap your nose,
pat your head - gently, of course.

I call you Mr Titch - yes, a name!
You have been at table with me,
sitting in a bar, I with others.
Should I have said we?
Yes, we were with others, yes we.

Now I watch, almost mischievously.
I observe with a slightly naughty eye.
Each pal will pat your nose,
tap your head, smile at you.
Yet you are so much artificial fur.


(21 Aug 2024)

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