Boy cat

by Eithne Cullen

with your human face
and pointed ears
drawn on by a child
press up against the
window to see
if she’s inside;
she sits cowering
beneath the table or
the chair.
And you are there
outside the door
after a week, a month
a year, waiting –
hoping to relive
your pleasure
and her pain
again.
With your human face
and pointed ears
you sit and stare
she cowers beneath
a table or a chair
and you sit and stare
sometimes you call
with your banshee cry
as if you’ll tempt her
mesmerise
and draw her to you.
You wait, you stare.
Boy cat.