Tuesday, September 04, 2018

A poem for a kitty cat called Kat.


Words tie us down in forever compliments and wet, unrepentant kisses
I don’t even know her middle name and still I so badly wish to sit on a bus with her as she goes about her daily commute and the religiosity of existential nothingness
Playing doctor with you would be up there on another level and I promise to warm up my stethoscope before placing it on your "Wee Willie Winkie" chest

Katie has always recognized whatever genius I may or may not possess as my intellect turns its back on traditional medicine and gives acupuncture a try
I was blinded by her science which I’ve always found rather amusing because I’ve never been much of a Thomas Dolby fan
This poem is taking its good old time like a chicken afraid to be fried or a crime that’s found its moral compass and stopped on a dime

The fans that I had flew the coop because I was either too rigid in my dogma or flaccid when it came to looking the other way and coughing
Groupies are never there when you need them as the rock star steps onto the stage and another cheeseburger is left half eaten by a wishy washy vegan
Kat purrs with all the authority of someone who listens to their lion while still knowing in their heart of hearts Van’s one crazy bugger

I wanted to hold her hand, but didn’t want to come off like some Beatles song
The name dropping has to stop as I leave my conscience on the bathroom floor next to the dried vomit from last week
We are two ships passing in the night as daybreak stubs its toe and a new morning is postponed

Charles Cicirella

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