On Love, Writing, And Cats

As I sit here, at my office desk,

I type line after line,

But it all fades fast,

And it will end up like so many other writes,

A waste of time,

Which will not be shared

I think of the things I feel I should write about

The stuff people seem to like, and,

I cheat and write ideas on scrap paper,

Which litters this large, old desk

But none of those ideas speak to me now

Just words and ideas I’ll save for another time

Right now I feel compelled to write about love,

Write about writing

Fuck that,

What I really feel,

Is to tell some story about my cat, who boards with a friend,

And guards the Gates of Hell

Ah, yes

That’s the one

This makes me smile, because the writing of love,

Or of writing,

Would more aptly suit the people who might end up reading this,

But it’s the craziness of the cat,

Which breaks the monotony of this evening

So I pour a drink,

And toggle back and forth,

Between typed words and pen and paper

And I spin useless tales of the port and moldy cheese,

The sword, and a corkscrew, which was stole by which one of us, again?

The one used to ward off The Great Ones, off in “The Dreamlands”?

And I laugh and sip away

In a perfect evening,

With jazz calmly whispering in the background and smoke swirling,

Which most would never understand

But I hope she’ll read it,

And I hope it makes her smile

For she has made me smile,

Because of her perfect sense of humor,

And for taking care of that old ‘bastard of a cat’

© Dicky J Loweman 2015