The Room

THE ROOM I’ve a wish To spend my musings on little things simple things Little thoughts each in its place Little items about my room perfectly fixed (woods may be full of paper bits of discard the footprints of children abundant and their leavings) (a trash bin tastelessly placed blocks view of a great old tree) (the room’s a mess only as one fears an intruder phone need not be lifted doorbell unanswered sweet music) BUT There are cats in the room Breathing pulse on a terrible complex geometry warping table tops and bottoms legs and arms interrupting lines and joints (how a cat will perpetually lick itself clean self companion with filthy tongue) A fat black Persian’s asleep (without eyes) by the patio door Then a snow white cat in folds a rumpled pink blanket undulating on the floor And A seal point With restless perfect beauty With razor sharp flanks as though clipped each day by elfin barber After petting she’s twitching around growling Astrut in leaps and bounds The intrusion is precious but devastating Day after day there is a poet watching himself compose mind standing off looking at some stale image of mind neither hot nor cold but blowing And I return and return Sit down my hour to write each day Watching the white cat on her pink blanket How the light does play ............................................................................................... This in answer to Carolyn Devonshire's challenge. I also just read a very fine poem about being obsessed with a room, by Andrea Dietrich. Thanks Carolyn for your faith in me. BIG LOVE, daver