Transmogrified, the moggies thrive
among the columns.
Was the unknown temple
dedicated to some migrating Bastet,
an early mouser with ideas above
her earthly station?
One guides me formally along a path,
a curt miaow if I misstep, a paw
upraised in warning. Others sit
in trees, on columns, Delphic
in their dreams.
Three-legged ginger tom, his glide
above lost limb, patrols with easy pace
along the walls and bars.
Signs all around implore
all doting humans not to feed
the over-fed and neutered cats;
beautiful banditti,
whiskers all aloft,
condescend to scratching
behind ears, a spine-rub,
and devour ice-cream....
pizza... candy...
dreams.
Kathleen Griffin
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/largo-argentina/
