You Coming Up?

It’s a great day to be on the roof. You coming up?

I don’t know, I say. It’s an awfully long way.

Don’t be a wuss! She says.

Watch it, I say.

 

But she scrambles up, climbing the tiled slopes and disappears.

What’s it like? I call.

Fan—bloody—tastic!! She says. You should see this.

You can tell me about it later, I say. Write me a poem.

 

The sun climbs towards its zenith, begins it s long slide towards the sea.

I hear nothing till dinner time when I hear plaintive cries.

I let her stew for a while then  go out the back, look up.

She’s near the gutter but doesn’t go any further.

 

What’s wrong? I say.

Get me down, she whimpers.

What’s wrong? You can get up. You can get down.

It’s an awfully long way, she wails.

Who’s a ‘fraidy cat now?

I’m sorry I called you a ‘wuss’, she says.

I reach up, lift her down. She runs straight to her bowl.

 

What’s the forecast tomorrow? She asks after she’s finished eating.

Overcast with a chance of showers.

Damn! She meows but sounds almost glad.