Home » Poetry » Day 77 – Some People Don’t Even Have A Cat

Day 77 – Some People Don’t Even Have A Cat

Some people make their living in smoke-filled dens
where misery’s left its number on the bathroom wall
and some only visit with a safety.
But in the middle, I guess, is me- with longer hair now,
and I walk in tall but I humbug out.
I’ve got the same shoes but there’s
something wrong up top
which makes the bartenders lick their chops.
And if I shake a hand I could hold it,
as if it were so simple,
as if no good childhood were keeping me back.
But I rather think it silly sometimes,
the way I lie about sadness-
that homeward arrival’s insistent squawing
is any different than when I left it,
or that the other kids’ bikes
make mine any more absent
than yesterday.

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