NG (November 5th 1972. / Some hospital I think...can't remember...was very young at the time.)

Front.

There's a Raven
that lives in the tree
that sit's at the bottom
of my garden
and my cat's have taken
to stalking it.

The only problem is
that this Raven
is as big
as they are.

Yet still,
everytime they slide
outside they
sit waiting for it
to land
on the grass.

And this morning it did.

It set down
straight in front
of them
and just stared
them out.

Very slowley
they backed up
and then in
a flash
came tearing through
the cat-flap,
up the stairs
and hid under the bed.

The Raven
hopped around for a few moments,
preening itself,
shaking out it's feathers
and then flew
back up to
it's nest.

And I got to thinking
if they'd rushed it
they could've probally
taken it out.

I guess the art of bullshit
isn't just exclusive
to the human animal
after all.

User Rating: 4,8 / 5 ( 2 votes ) 2

Comments (2)

Your poem keeps in suspense. It is very good.
Scary Cats...Ha, Ha...Well put..Once again Neil..