Poem: Cat shaving season

Sketch the cat

Sketch the cat

When the weather is warm,
the groomer appears
and we
shave the cat.

The butt trim is essential —
no more running all crazy-cakes
from the cat box,
as if being chased
by a dangling dingleberry.

The mane trim is important —
because this messy eater
cannot lick the bib of fluff
under his own chin.

Take off the body and leg fur,
‘cause warm weather
is no fun for a big furball.
Give that poor tongue a rest.

Flip him over
a 180 or 360
catches him off guard
so he’ll be still for another minute
till he figures out
what just happened.

And very soon
our cat is a naked
soft as a peach.

[Thank you Better Kitty Spa]

Poem: Unnamed Cafe in my Neighborhood

When it first opened
there were sandwiches
with wonderful
gluten-free baguettes
and many teas
on offer.
Then, I could still eat cheese.
Now when I visit
this place
I’m the only one there
during lunch hour.
I know the coffee
will give me heartburn.
The tea varieties are
slim to none.
I will have to ask
for a salad and tell them
to leave off the parmesan.
At least they still
have gluten-free bread.

[PostScript: Ha! So it’s near the end of the month and I am running short on ideas. I just wanted to say how amazed I am when I walk around my ‘hood and see that there are still restaurants in this world who serve wheat, dairy and deep fried foods. It’s as if they hate their customers and want them to be sick and die young. That’s how I feel but I know many who wouldn’t agree. Though I would challenge those people to quit wheat, dairy and deep fried foods for a month and see if maybe some of their health problems (they maybe didn’t even know they had) just disappear. Anyway, in my ‘hood, one of the busiest places is Chaco Canyon, the vegan place that serves a lot of gluten-free stuff. Certain other restaurants in Greenwood should take notice of that.]

Poem: Angry Feminist Bitch Rant

Young boys in the shape of men
still learning how to speak
say words like ‘rape’
when the word ‘kiss’
would have been more
when talking
about a woman they like.

And why do they like her, anyway?

It can’t be for her suggestions —
the same ideas spoken
by male colleagues
are taken more seriously.

It can’t be for her body —
they criticize it
with phrases like
‘too hairy,’ ‘too fat,’
or ‘smelly perfume.’

It can’t be for her words —
they are deaf to those

It can’t be for her autonomy
her attempt to control who she sees
her own fate
her own body
her own life.

Dear young boys in the shape of men,
why pretend you love women
when you only love
the idea of ‘woman’?
Why complain about the
high pitched, screechy voices
you won’t listen to?

When those voices
claw you apart with their screams
you’ll knock them down
toss them aside
call them hysterical or crazy
then go back to playing in your man cave
until you need clean laundry
and a hot meal
from Mommy.