Perhaps I’ll call the cat Tamara Jane

We fell into a rhythm as we walked
Arm in arm we wandered as we talked
We looked into folks’ windows  as dusk came
Tried to guess their furnishings and names

Some had nothing but the ironing stacked
Others  had the furniture we lacked
I bought a chest of drawers for three pounds
We had a double bed where our cat lounged

I bought a little table made of oak
Fifty pence at auction, go for broke!
A few old armchairs covered in green cloth
Too severe to be a home  for moths

Now I look at pictures on the walls
I see the sun turn mauve as down dusk falls
Images both simple and  robust
One a choice the other  nature’s lust

I see my sofa like a treasure ship
I lie upon  it dreaming  humorous quips
I  dream of journeys on the little train
That signifies  what sleep means to my brain

The rocking chair is empty of the cat
I see one in my garden, not my lap.
I try to tame this immigrant  I like
I shall give him food and call him Mike.

Oh,dear that is my brother, will he mind?
I know he loves the birds, and cats do bite
He is not living here in my old road
Otherwise he’ll hear me shouting “Claude”

Perhaps I’ll call the cat Tamara Jane
In case they’re very sensitive to names
For I know not the gender of the beast
They may be quite fluid  at the least

Now my husband cannot calm me down
I’d like his verdict on my new nightgown
But all I can remember is that rhythm
I fell into walking  out  with him

I welcome comments and criticism

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