my muse is plotting every inch of my time today
I try to escape but there is actually no way
on writing poetry and fiction, she is hardily keen
I cannot refuse Trixie, for she is insanely mean
no prepositions, she orders me in a stern way
But verbs and adverbs are okay, for they are merry and gay
On a pristine white page Trixie writes the rules down
She adds that I am a goof pot, a weirdy cat and a clown.
I would like to escape Trixie, but she’s solidly in my head.
She plants ideas in my imagination while I’m in bed.
Hey, Trixie, don’t you have an uncle or cousin to go see?
She laughs at my anguish, making more fun of me.
He was a fop, a weirdy cat, a popinjay
foolish, ridiculous, cheeky and brash
we landed on a big secret one day
he can be bought off with a bit of cash
at family events, he annoys others
paid to leave us alone by me and my brothers.
Why isn’t you dad coming around? Asked our mother.
“I have no idea,” lied one of my brothers.
What do you call him?
My cousin Gertie smirked a bit. You go first, she said.
We call him blue-eyed-stare-boy
I call him the weirdy cat.
He is a distant cousin.
Comes to our family reunion once a year.
Never speaks.
We have tried and tried.
I do not think he ever blinks Gertie said.
I don’t think he knows English, I said.
Distant cousin did not waste time with either of us.
Did not speak and did not want to.
Giving us both the creeps.
What do you call him?
My cousin Gertie smirked a bit. You go first, she said.
We call him blue-eyed-stare-boy
I call him the weirdy cat.
He is a distant cousin.
Comes to our family reunion once a year.
Never speaks.
We have tried and tried.
I do not think he ever blinks Gertie said.
I don’t think he knows English, I said.
Distant cousin did not waste time with either of us.
Did not speak and did not want to.
Giving us both the creeps.
eye don’t no what you were saying too me when I got my pension
butt there were at lease to things u were two smart to mention
I can knot say them now bee-cause it would B blatantly bold
Weather or knot you say them yourself, defines us as used up and old.
eye don’t know why you are still hear, you annoy me sew much
there is something bovine about ewe and you have the weirdy cat touch.
I can say with curtainty that we probably have know future at all.
The game is in your court. Hear, my deer, is the game ball.
A gargoyle fell off the top of the building and landed on my toe.
I screamed like an injured bobcat, loud, long, hard, with a glow.
The neighbors all came out and stared, but this was the city.
They turned snickering, and ran off; the scene was not pretty.
One old guy came over and said “There will be a bill for that.”
He was pointing to the cement gargoyle who had ears like a cat.
You think I pushed this thing off the top letting it fall on my foot?
I was irritated now. Also it had left a trail of ugly black soot.
Your tennis shoe is ruined; you should have known better, he said.
I knew right then that the old guy was bonkers in his skinny ole’ head.
I shoved the gargoyle off my foot and told him to shove off.
Then I noticed his ugly smile and his strange little weird kitty cough.
“Hey”, I asked this Weirdy Cat. “Weren’t you married to my sister?”
“Could be,” he replied."I married many." He is a strange little mister.
Oh, yes, I thought, this was one of hers for sure. He is so odd.
I limped off, not looking back after pushing the gargoyle off my bod.
I would have less surprised if they had chased down religious mothers
And murdered them in their carpeted hymn singing churches
They were frenzied, fanatically incensed, a revved up mob
Brains had been overturned by the whip tongue of the outgoing czar.
Blood splatters on the pristine building left a fleshy carnage.
Who has the noose?
Where is the vice president?
Steal and loot. Plunder. Pillage.
An insurrection no one can be proud of, making it a weirdy cat week.
No other cats are blue.
Why me?
She is a weirdy-cat herself, this artist woman.
Her cartoon witches are laughable, and I am blue?
Uh-oh. Here she comes again.
Yesterday she added hot pink to my ears.
I thought I was done!
I am irritated now. What is she about?
Glitter!
Glitter is a girl’s color!
Don’t approach me with that horrible glitzy silver….
Ugh!
Now I have it in my mouth.
I hate artists,
Her, in particular.
No telling what she will do to me tomorrow.
Hey! No tail!
What cartoon cat has no tail?
Crap. The brown cat does not have a tail either.
And she calls herself an artist. Scoff.