Bad Housekeeping by Emma Neale



The cat does a
fine patriarchal stalk

his paws all
rosebuds and thorns,

eyes a
tender-censorious almost-blue

as he plays
pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake

with the living
room rug

which bubbles
and bumps

like bread
dough baking

until I lift
its edge

to see a small,
dark, anguished mouse

race the thread
of its tail up and down

like a
seamstress frantic to say least and mend soonest

the deep

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