What the Cats Aren’t Saying
Of all the ones we bind and morph
they are the ones who mind
us having speech the most. Listen how,
when they stare you down, they scrape
off insults with their tongues.
How they choreograph their every stride
to say they know when and how we’ll die,
saving breath for that triumphant cry.
What conniving prima donnas; hairdos
perfect, licked down in mom-spit, rubbing
body smells on our black pants and spewing
fanatic propaganda. Grace they’d trade in half a sec
for a leather jacket and a nickel plated
Colt held in your face. But here in my office
their fury is patted down and hinted at
only when they shudder back
disgusted at fate’s tone of voice,
despite the scads of cat-prayers ever spoken,
because religions like us to see our souls as cats,
leaping from high to higher wire performed
with pluck and in power of the dark.
Imagine how they must feel:
cock-blocked, cheated, mocked by god.
What they’d like to do is cuss up a storm
but they’re held to tact and dangerous body language.
- m.r. kidd
Stray Cat Strut (mp3) Stray Cats
Speak To Me (mp3P Rocco Deluca & The Burden
No comments:
Post a Comment