The Calico Cat
The calico cat always seems to know.
With silent ways to bedroom and boudoir,
Around the corner, down the hall he flows,
Then up the stairs to where a door’s ajar.
His silent ways to bedroom and boudoir,
Sometimes meandering at night, he goes
Up stairs to where the door’s ajar.
A candle is the only light that shows.
Sometimes, meandering at night, he goes
Along the garden path, and sees afar
A candle as the only light that shows
In all the windows, like an amber star.
Along the garden path he sees afar
The flame behind the glass, the softest glow
In just that window, like an amber star.
He lands atop the garden wall like snow.
The flame behind the glass, with softest glow,
Reveals the chamber, bed, and who they are.
He lands atop the garden wall like snow,
This calico cat who always seems to know.
Turned out, made up,
tuned in to what’s in,
the dolls with long legs,
clack their heels,
chemical blond ‘do’
falling straight on black:
Mornings and nights,
at the rag-end of a day’s
too many hours
and too few,
I know what you
look like: you.
real smile: you
To a Critic
He tells me
I use too
I think about