* * *

(* * *)

I cat-nabbed a wee, sleekit, cowrin… idea,

the last of this doleful departed year…

Now I clamber back to my know-your-place,

releasing the beastie to skitter off east;

but for lasting out the Atlantic

he’s lacking both training and talent.

My poor little lemming! A salty death-weight

will flood over him. He’ll be in for a fight.

But the beam from a lone supernova star

will reach down towards him, like a straw.

1-5 February 1997