Puds – a poem by Paul Attwell

Puds


An earth angel,
the colour of a hobnob,
plush fur shines like gold.
His paws, dirty pink,

ears twitching to receive signals.
Stripes of a tiger,
paws outstretched or crossed.
Sagacious, divine.

Whiskers an antenna,
pink nose, not that he
uses it. He uses taste
to discern, licks gravy

off his meals, only
eating half the meat.
Until we gave him a new
bowl. Now he can dip his whole

head and whiskers, 
devouring the entire serving.
From another dimension,
he sleeps lightly, bass

rhythm in four-four time,
always smiling, often snoring.
When he’s awake,
He opens his front paws,

his tummy exposed,
he absorbs a chin tickle.
Curled into a ball,
an orb of light.

Paul Attwell lives in Richmond, London, with his partner Alis, and cat, Pudsey. Paul’s experience of ADHD help shapes his work. The pamphlet, Blade is available from WRP at https://www.wrongroosterpublishing.com/ The pamphlet, Early Doors will be available mid-November. Paul’s poems have been published on various ezines.

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