Tuesday, February 15, 2011


I gyrated among the tomcats,
the tawny cats, the lady cats,
and I waited for them to hang
my bait above me, not a carrot
but rather a steak
on a hook
not a string.
It stung. I was that lonely. And.
Wasn't a cat. Couldn't catch a break.
The king of cats wore a turban
and the queen wore a shroud.
I drank beer from a pitcher
and sure as hell wasn't proud.
The music got louder and louder;
the cat orgy filled the room with sounds
of rude laughter from those at home
watching with their computers, click
by click and youtubing
laughter the cats enjoyed as they prowled
from sexual partner to cat-hookers
they paid in pale pink catnip
and dirty looks, feigned ambivalence
and unfeigned apathy. And I thought:
with these kids if you can't not give a shit
then you're probably doing it right.

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