[lit-ideas] SUNDAY POEM
- From: "Mike Geary" <atlas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
- To: <lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
- Date: Sun, 27 Jul 2008 01:36:09 -0500
I AIN'T EASY BEING ME
My cat looked quizzically at me
as if to ask if I've lost hold
of my senses. Of course I haven't.
I've never had control of my senses.
Never will. I threw my tuna salad sandwich at her.
Control's the last thing I want.
Jesus God what a prison!
To be the keeper of the keys.
You go be police, judge, jury, jailer
-- that's for slaves. I'm a free man,
I shouted at her, but she seemed
more interested in my tuna salad sandwich
than in my philosophy.
"I will brook no preacher, priest, professsor nor any other prestidigitator
to ever lock me into a cell of magical, metaphysical meanings.
If something makes sense to you,
Then I abjure it.
It's as simple as that,"
I shouted and slammed my fist on the table as punctuation.
My cat finished the tuna fish salad sandwich
then looked quizzically at me
as if to ask if I've lost hold of my senses.
"What do you want from me," I screamed.
She mewed. Which most people would have taken
as a polite: "Thank you, sir, for that fine tuna fish salad sandwich."
But I knew what she meant, oh, yes, I did, make no mistake about that --
"I want your soul" she was saying -- just like everyone else,
so I threw my glass of milk at her.
She enjoyed that as well, her tongue
moving ever so carefully among the shards of my very last glass.
Mike Geary
Memphis
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