............
.........The Poetry Of.
....................................... Wayne Noone
................
................
................ The Cats
................
................ Don't know if he first pushed past the screen
............. because he saw the cat,
............. or if he only saw the cat
............. after he stepped outside,
............. but the fact is the cat was there,
............. in the garden on the side of the house,
............. and he saw it,
............. and how this came about is only important
............. for matters jurisprudent,
............. because afterwards had you asked him
............. he would have told you
............. it was the cat lured him.
............. She was shy at first, looking at him
............. for just a breath, then bolting,
............. but he coaxed her back with milk and treats
............. and soon she was there each morning,
............. and along with her
............. her kindred, till they numbered
............. close to a score.
............. Each morning it was his joy to feed them:
............. saucers of milk and pet food,
............. and even pork he had
............. ground fresh at the Foodland.
............. But a change came, in increments:
............. how the feeding became a burden,
............. the mewling grating on his nerves,
............. the sensation of them pushing
............. their sleek fur against his legs
............. filled him with a loathing and
............. left him appalled he had packed his yard
............. with these insistent and demanding
............. monsters, till he could not breathe
............. and could scarcely leave his house.
............. And when he shot them,
............. and did away with poison the few that had survived,
............. all that was left for him
............. was the sound of wind
............. rattling the dried garlic stalks in the garden,
............. and a strange tingling in his spine.
.............
..............
..............
..............
..............
.............. Port Authority
..............
.............. He hits the three-way a second before you.
.............. Port Authority.
.............. And he slowly cruises down the hill.
.............. He's in no hurry, he's got you now
.............. all you can do is look
.............. at his big square ass and suck
.............. the black smoke.
.............. Takes forever to make the left
.............. onto Provost, no turn signal,
.............. read the ad on his backside
.............. while you wait.
.............. You've got one chance to pass
.............. as he pulls onto 51,
.............. but he hogs both lanes till he's got the speed
.............. to block you out,
.............. gotta slam the brakes and tuck tail
.............. behind again.
.............. But on the left to 88 traffic's all backed up
.............. and you know a little shortcut
.............. that runs parallel and you've got your shot.
.............. You pass, glorious, alongside
.............. as you head up the alley
.............. and freedom.
.............. And you look over at him looking at you
.............. impassive,
.............. and he's every cop, every Trent Lott,
.............. and you know you haven't won,
.............. you can never win,
.............. but every so often you can pretend
.............. you've done a little damage
.............. in return.
..............
..............
..............
..............
..............
.............. Getting Older
..............
.............. Your flesh, heavier,
.............. so warm,
.............. still sits in my hand.
.............. Still gets rosy
.............. with a smack.
.............. Your hair, still thick,
.............. curtains your face
.............. as you bend.
.............. Your eyes
.............. still make me
.............. dizzy.
.............. We're older, not better
.............. not worse.
.............. Let's be those for whom
.............. getting older
.............. tickles.
..............
..............
..............
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