Crazed
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They told me of the psycho cat’s demise.
Who is they and where did they just come from?
What the heck’s a psycho cat anyway?
Am I feverish, or are these the crazed,
sabbatical dreams after quarantine.
How much cheap rot gut booze I’ve had, not sure.
The label I hide on the wine bottle.
Tell me, do you hear the eerie boardwalk
as it creaks near the white sand beach, do you?
You don’t hear it. It’s been like that all day.
9/21/20
It feels surreal Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Nina Parmenter
Copyright © Janis Thompson | Year Posted 2020
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