that it’s nice to include
a cat
in a poem.
Cats and kittens
filled my house,
my yard, my neighborhood
when I was a kid
Cats don’t belong
to anyone except themselves,
but they’re fuzzy, when they want to be
Cats have adopted
people in
record numbers
now that we’re all shut-ins
What about
my nonexistent cat
should slink into this poem?
I’ll ask it.
It didn’t like the
question.
It hissed its answer
then
cut with its claw
the only security
blanket I own,
my ratty robe, and now
it pooped in
the suitcase I forgot I
owned
I wish I could be comforted
by
my nonexistent cat.
I should have explained
why a poem with a cat
in it wouldn’t work,
but did Billy Collins
ever listen to me?
