poem of the day 02.27.09

nothing new...too caught up in the misery that is writing a novel....so here's an older one:

borrowed time

typing poems with the door shut,
i hear one of the cats
scratching and meowing.
then my wife calls to me
from the living room
to let the beast in.
and even though i am enjoying
the solitude
and the old r&b music,
i get up and open the door.

but the cat does not move.
she looks at me as if i
wasn’t what she was expecting
on the other side.
so i prod and pet her,
i do my best to coax her in.

nothing works
so i shut the door
and i sit back down at the computer,
take a hit of my scotch
and begin making symphonies
with words.
that is,
until i hear the scratching and meowing
again.

this is a game, i realize
and the cat can do this all night
because she has no conception
of time
or work
or poetic duty.
her life is ruled by my schedule,
by my drudgery,
and her madness is simple:
a taunting bird in the tree
a squirrel jumping from branch
to branch;
the distant wail of a cat fight.

suddenly i feel bad,
and i play along.
i open the door
and the cat stares at me again.
i am foreign and she is foreign.
however, this time i’m smarter,
and i pick her up and carry her
inside the room.

together we sit on my chair
as i sip scotch
and try to remember where i left
off on the poem.
suddenly the music picks up,
a breezy, up tempo song
that reminds me of the past.

and on cue the cat jumps
off of me
and heads for the door.
she cries and meows again
and i let her out.
then i sit back down
and listen to the rest of the song,
as the poem i was typing lingers
on the screen,
the meaning forgotten.

i listen for the cat again.
i know she will cry and meow,
and my wife will call me to let her
back inside the room.
this is fun, i think.
the most fun i’ve had in a long time.
it’s better being on the cat’s time
for a change.

09.12.06