I struggle to live with you,
throughout the day, I find it easy
to ignore you. I grind down hard
refuse to accept the discomfort.
When we try to sleep together
the hurt increases, it’s unavoidable,
we desire different things.
You have to leave,
but beg with nerve-
ending pleas to stay.
The only outcome is extraction –
To dig deep into me,
the only thing holding us together
scrape out everything
that lets me know you are there.
I am saying goodbye
and I’m not sure how to feel.
I will miss the function you performed
the sensation of you being there.
I will notice the space you leave. I’ll fail
to recall how unhappy you made me.
Forget how I used to lie awake
concerned about the damage
you were causing.
You were all top and I all bottom, which should have made it easy
as I shuffled past you. I wondered where
to put my hands and If you
were thinking the same
as your hands
to the other,
the moments in between.
I placed my hands behind me and looked
at you. This unsure smile we shared, as you apologised.
To the cat
that sits in the front window
all day. I see you relaxed
with each paw firmly in place,
your knowing grin
or is that your cat mouth,
it looks like a smirk as I trundle
past on my way to work.
I can’t understand
how you sit in the same spot –
without a cubicle or a screen
to stare at. Without having someone
barking orders all day,
and no vending machine
to keep you going.
As I return I wonder about your worries
about the dog-eat-cat world
you live in and how each passing pet
admires you, every cat wants to be you
and every dog wants you.
You are unmoved.
The taxidermist’s prize specimen.
Stephen Daniels is the editor of Amaryllis Poetry and Strange Poetry websites. His poetry has been published in numerous magazines and websites. His debut pamphlet, Tell Mistakes I Love Them, was published in 2017 by V. Press. Find out more at www.stephenkirkdaniels.com