Richard Parker Poem by Juan Olivarez

Richard Parker is his name,
But he neither knows nor cares.
Milk to him is the name of the game,
Underneath the porch and stairs.

Richard Parker of the steel blue eyes,
And fur of grey and white.
At five in the morning I hear your cries,
Even before the day's first light.

Richard Parker, tiny little thing,
Your mom can't feed you anymore.
Me thinks you think yourself a king,
As you sit by my front door.

Richard Parker calm down I'm here,
Your breakfast on the way.
Tiny one that I hold dear,
Each morning now, you make my day.