The Visit

When he came I asked

in surprise: What are you

doing here, and he replied with a low-pitched

growl; more a teddy


than a fierce animal. I poured water

in a bowl for him, but

all he wanted was a cuddle, which is why

he travelled this far, he said, over

cities and fields, winging down

the East Coast in a metal bird.

You must be tired, I said, still standing

aback. Shall I make you a bed?

And you in it, he whispered, his body

softening into a big pillow, and you in it.

But no, I wave away

the thought ; he shall never

come. All the poems

in the world, but he shall never come.