Tea Parties

We used to have a lot of fun before Teddy moved to Dun Laoghaire.

Now I sit here

thinking about it.

Tea does not taste the same

(he took my kettle as a gift

what he called 'memorabilia'    I

call a scar.)

when cooked in a soup pot on the stove.

It stinks there

with a smell too dense

for (just) two nostrils.

First Ms. Whiskers went away

(then known as Miss. Kitty

they even take your name)

and I thought to myself     that maybe it was the end.

But it wasn't, there were still

so many friends to lose.

They will say we'll meet again

they will say they love us,

but they don't, they don't know they don't,

but they don't.

And like that forgotten state

I ache to be remembered.

Turtley, Sharky, Vader, Herbert the Noble Toad,

all one by one sent down to the chapel.

What does Mr. Whiskers have that my tea did not?

Is he more sweet? More warm and kind?

Why do I have to be expendable?

We used a stump for the table

and the plates were made with mud.

Now we've gone so far away

I'm sure the stump forgot me.

But I can never forget the stump.