Eye Conflict
 
A fat cat patrols my garden,
Head in the air, haughty and stiff.
He strolls the path, sniffs at the air,
Stares at the world, aloof and proud.
He feigns indifference when I knock,
Ignores my rapping on the pane,
Then stares and glares with deep disgust,
Affronted by my intrusion.
His eyes are baleful, his disdain
Is plain to see, he looks at me
As if I am beneath contempt,
Not worthy of a second glance.
Then he just turns, walks slowly on;
The contest over, he has won.

Ed Blundell

If you have any thoughts on this poem, Ed Blundell would be pleased to hear them.