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Oliver Comins: a poem

No Cat

There is no cat here, biding its time,

curled on a ledge where warm air soothes

and sunshine caresses through the glass.

No extra senses are engaged and active,

detecting the whereabouts of rivals and threats

or tracking the movement of prey,

grey-furred or crested with wings.

We keep nothing aloof or demanding

in the lives that we lead. Our soft furnishings

are not to be shared with any animals.

We deplore occasional outbursts of feathers

on grass underneath our bird feeders.

On these occasions, we can only assume

flesh and the rest have been devoured.

Oliver Comins grew up in Warwickshire but lives and works in West London. His early poetry was collected in Playing out time in awkward light (Mandeville Press 1992) and Anvil New Poets Two (ed. Carol Ann Duffy 1995). He returned to writing in 2009 since when Templar Poetry has published three pamphlets: Yes to Everything (2014), Staying in Touch (2015) and Battling Against the Odds (2016) plus a full collection, Oak Fish Island (2018).


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