Self-envy
I suffer from that rarest illness, called
Self-envy. Everyone, it seems, but me
Is desperate, as if they each are walled
Up in a prison or are like a quay
That no ships come to, ever, but my days
And nights are full. I have a cat who dotes
On me—and no one else. He leaps and splays
Himself across my cushioned lap. He casts his votes
Of love for me by jumping on our bed
And walking round and round until he lies
Right near my neck and in between my head
And shoulder. There he slightly closes eyes
And lifts his ears and face for bliss and purr
While I am scratching, rubbing, fondling fur.
~ Phillip Whidden