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Dear uncle sold her into the purest kind of slavery. |
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Hood-eyed little middlemen profited from damaged goods |
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Along the way. |
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Good angels brought her back to a last nepal summer. |
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Debased, hollow-faced, a smile might become her. |
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Now she's cosied up, cosied up and comforted |
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In the warm flush of september. |
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Gone before winter. |
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Wondering as to might-have-beens. |
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Somebody's daughter in sanctuary, waiting. |
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Seen through softer cage of kindness, far and further still away, |
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From time-warp victorian zoos |
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Where staring ice cream gameboys play. |
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Big paws, worn claws and swishing tails. |
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More damaged goods in the market sales. |
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Too proud for anger, too late for hate: resigned in dignity. |
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Gone before winter. |
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Purring might-have-beens. |
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Somebody's kitten in sanctuary, waiting. |
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Somebody near you in sanctuary, waiting. |
