the pensioner
he told me he preferred his house
with its drafts and fires
that burn all day
rooms that in the dark
still contain the crisp night air
and in the lazy summer months
windows and doors wide open
letting in insects that bite and sting
and with a cat that keeps the mice at bay
but never quite gets rid of them
Tristan Moss
If you have any comments on this poem, Tristan Moss would be
pleased to hear from you.
