Conversation with a Feral Cat -Robert W. Cosgriff

You rule the empty field I walk past every day.
Don’t expect me to come on in
To pick you up; your eyes say “no,”
So you’ll remain uncuddled;
I, unscratched.
No way I’ll take you home
To spit at reformation
Both of us know all too well
That that would never work.
You’d rather sleep in culverts,
Having never known a couch.
And as for food,
What you catch, you eat;
What you eat, you catch-
No purring prostitution,
No tuna-in-a-can for you.
Strike any pose you like:
Bold, insouciant, blase,
Inscrutable-all adjectives apply.
Crouched unblinking in the sun
Beneath the sign that tells me
You are moving soon,
You size me up as too far gone
To step across the line to learn
Which side of halfway feral falls upon.