Danzas Nocturnas

You like dark corners, forbidden places
Just the things I say ‘no’ to.
A rebel spirit stirs your
Contrary and unstilled blood,
A memory of ancestors that can still
Be glimpsed in your wilder moments.

You are a faux agent provocateur, sir
Running with the pack when it suits you
Posturing before the rest of the neighbourhood’s
Petty brutes and hoodlums.

You seek me out in the middle of the night
Pushing through the bathroom door and pausing
To pour yourself onto my lap, an ecstasy of purring
As I sit and pee and stroke your head.

When you wake with a comic expression
Of sleepy slant-eyed resentment
And yawn enormously with a foul little belch
I am amazed by the extending length
Of your elastic yoga-stretched body.

Little sausage, fly-hunter
Tip-toe dancing bull fighter,
You pounce on the prey of your imaginings
Then wrap your tail in a circle and sit in it
Picturesque as a Chinese vase
By the fireplace.

by Sara Roberts