Me, Pussycat, God

If I were the Pussycat
and He
were
me,

I wonder exactly
how that
would
be.

I might sit,
contented,
my own simple business
to mind and,
suddenly,
find

my whole self lifted in air,
to be cheek by jowl
and ear pressed to ear.

I’d struggle,
push, lean,
and rather
not be there

but I’d have nothing to fear.

All powerful,
the Pussycat’d
have no reason to be mean,

I’d feel loved
and He’d rub my chin,
whispering, “Tell me, Pussycat,
where have you been?”