4986. SO MANY TIMES THE TABBY HAS GOT ME

SO MANY TIMES THE TABBY

So many times the tabby has got me : flickering,

lingering, hanging about. It seems there's always

a tongue for the habit. In the center of the barn,

here between 18 Holstein and 2 Jersey cows, there's

a lot happening for a cat to see. And me, as well.

I've taken more than one cow-kick to the shins 

or even the face and the body; not fun.

-

Out back, through the barn doors at the rear

which open to the downward sloping field, moon

soaks snow with light, a few birds seem ready to

fly, and  -  from where I'm looking now  -   the

whole world seems ready for right. The cat

curls itself up for a sleep to the memory.

-

Tomorrow is another day  -  heard that before.

Yet it's only nearing six o'clock and here I am

already over. Done and finished. If a form of Life

is hero-worship, something like teachers or writers

who purport to teach, do, then what else is there

but derivative product? Poems after the poems of

someone else, endless writing drivel about walks

and talks 'neath the starry morn sky.

-

Be done with that crap, I say. Quit finding daisies

under piles of shit. The farmers here call this manure

spreader a honey wagon, and I know what for;

 oh yes, do I know what for.