Counter Culture Cat

Our counter culture cat lies on the floor,
His tail tipping to a Herbie Mann beat
Only he can hear.
Kids yell, the television keens,
But the cat keeps his cool.

He closes his eyes and dreams of a room
With a fishnet ceiling,
Candles in wine bottles,
The sound of bongo drums.

Our counter culture cat performs
His tai-cat exercises.
He crosses the room with
Martha Graham movements,
Dodging the debris of every day life
With disdainful ease.

His feet pad to a syncopated rhythm
Of late night sessions preserved in vinyl.
Our counter culture cat would answer
To the name of Jack or Allen,
Lawrence or Richard, or even Maynard,
But we don’t know that.

He is a cat out of time
As all cats are
And waits
As all cats do
For time to catch up to him.

Our counter culture cat suffers
Warm milk, Whiskas in a bowl
Just for him.
Laps, pillows, late night cuddling.
It’s a hard life, but someone has to live it.

July, 1998

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