Saturday, 23 January 2016
Hair a heinz of titian, ginger, rust. Battler from Carlton backlanes. Mouth to make a meal of. Neighbours heard his purr. He was a night factory. Landed up in Balwyn. House of the Homeless. Claws were his finer points. Picked open cabinets. Ate half the fruitcake. Telltale teethmarks in almond icing. Dragged the Sunday roast round the backyard. Body a half-tamed fire, a breathing constellation. Slept the length of the bed. Elongated tiger. Thought some: not a cat, a machine. Standing near rubble left of redbrick fence. Whiskers wire. Red answered to no-one. Eyes a January dream, a June statement.