to the vet with our decrepit cat:
snaggle-toothed, arthritic, ectoparasitic.
His kick-ass piebald coat is now a mat
for fleas to wipe their feet on.
His legs are lame. His dignity is flat.
He used to know his name was Tipperary.
Today it could be Tom or even Jerry.
Enough. He’s had enough.
And that is that.
Bedtime stories
Pyjama’d, nightied, they are read to,
snuggled close, or independently alert.
The Baudelaires’ unfortunate events unravel.
Hogwarts weaves a family for Harry.
Boyhood and a Bear are said goodbye to.
The boy enjoys but doesn’t like to show.
His sister smiles because she knows, she knows.
The youngest bites her toes.
The youngest settles back
and blithely bites her toes.
Joe Crocker
If you have any thoughts about these poems, Joe Crocker would like to hear them
