Lloyd
Christmas
The front
latch cracks by chance or by my hand.
He saunters
in, or slides round the door frame,
whatever he
chooses, ‘cause his way goes
around here,
it is his house; a cat house.
I can’t lie
when he acts like a spoiled
attention
whore. Lying around like he
owns the
place. A lion in his palace
of people
who do as he demands. “For
they must
speak feline roar or else they would
never do as
I command, yet I feast.”
That ball of
fluff must think in his walnut
sized brain.
“Eat, sleep, play.” But there is more to
this crafty
agenda called a feline
dictatorship.
“March!” He purrs in delight
out the door
into battle. “We must feed
on the flesh
of our enemies!” His war
trousers
swaying with every step onward
into the
night. For his hunt has begun
and no
creature is safe. Nocturnal foes
are no match
for a silent ghost of fur
floating
like a fog through the neighborhood.
Another
radiant eye catches his
in the night
vision. A run, a pounce, then
he’s got it.
A creature cuter than he,
this time,
and it could break a million hearts.
Toss and
play, taunt and terrify, but look!
The sun is
peeking through and the front latch
cracks again.
Caught in the act, not ashamed,
he is torn
from his potential trophy.
Walnut brain
forgets. “I will kill again.”
-------------------------------------------------------
Chez Jane
BY FRANK
O'HARA
The white
chocolate jar full of petals
swills odds
and ends around in a dizzying eye
of four
o’clocks now and to come. The tiger,
marvellously
striped and irritable, leaps
on the table
and without disturbing a hair
of the
flowers’ breathless attention, pisses
into the
pot, right down its delicate spout.
A whisper of
steam goes up from that porcelain
urethra.
“Saint-Saëns!” it seems to be whispering,
curling
unerringly around the furry nuts
of the
terrible puss, who is mentally flexing.
Ah be with
me always, spirit of noisy
contemplation
in the studio, the Garden
of Zoos, the
eternally fixed afternoons!
There, while
music scratches its scrofulous
stomach, the
brute beast emerges and stands,
clear and
careful, knowing always the exact peril
at this
moment caressing his fangs with
a tongue
given wholly to luxurious usages;
which only a
moment before dropped aspirin
in this
sunset of roses, and now throws a chair
in the air
to aggravate the truly menacing.
No comments:
Post a Comment