Feeding stray cats

I
don’t
know
the cost of a ream of
paper in China
or
how much sunlight reaches
the north pole
of the moon.
I don’t know
why people in Louisiana
eat living crawfish
or what the long term effects
of using my cell phone will be.
I do know
why flamingos
are pink
and I wonder, if
I liked shrimp
and ate them every day,
if I could be pink too.
I have a sister that,
in another life,
would steal people’s cars
and the day someone
stole her’s she felt bad,
bad for the people
she had left stranded and confused,
wondering what they did to deserve this.
I remember sleeping in a car,
in a church parking lot.
Rear window busted out
letting in the rain and cold.
My girlfriend and I were homeless,
we slept in that parking lot
and fucked in a Public Storage room.
I didn’t own a gun
until I became a pacifist,
which makes sense
because I never saw the ocean
until I heard it
inside of a giant shell.
I don’t know
why I love grapes
and not raisins.
Maybe the missing vitality
picks at parts deep inside of me.
I still wonder why those two
Panda Bears captivated me as a small child.
I don’t know why their quest
to procreate became my quest
for them to procreate,
my mind juggling Saturday morning cartoons
and Panda sex.
I know I mailed my Grandma
a white baby seal figurine
when I was a little boy,
she still had it the day she died.
It sat on a shelf, yellow from decades of time.
Whenever I would visit her,
she would talk about when she got it,
that plastic baby seal.
It’s gone now
I don’t know where it went,
maybe she took it with her.
I don’t know
why the plains of North Africa
amaze me the way they do.
Perhaps it is survival, stripped
of artifice and illusion.
Life and death,
struggle and safety.
I don’t know
why we tell ourselves
the things that we do everyday.
Grasping at straws
until they break the camel’s back.
An imported car
with an American flag sticker,
means no more or less
than a bottle of Budweiser
at the local taqueria.
We watch whales in the water
and I imagine them traveling
to places I will never experience
and I envy them,
with their fins and blubber,
never knowing the sickening sweetness
of a Coca Cola Classic.
But we need Coke and McDonalds,
Ford and Mickey Mouse.
Without those familiar images,
without those icons
that justify our belief
in a system,
a system removed
from the nature
of being us,
who would we be?
I don’t know
why a child clings
to the corpse
of a mother, days dead.
I cannot fathom
the little girl’s reasons
but I can empathize
with not wanting to let go
and I pick her up,
free her from the horror
of this death,
to offer her a Happy Meal
and a Disney movie.
I imagine she eats only shrimp
because she is
so pink
and I tell her
about Panda Bears
and whales
and I show her
pictures of Africa
and the moon.

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About Fatesjoke

You can now find me and my stuff at www.fatesjoke.com
This entry was posted in Poems, Poetry, UDPS and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to Feeding stray cats

  1. curtdiggity says:

    This is one of my favoite poems…i was deep rooted in everything you said…Man awesome…wonderful im speechless….nice really nice

    • Fatesjoke03 says:

      Wow, thank you so much for the kind words. This piece is one of my favorites too. I am actually working on a major revision after getting some extensive feedback from friends. Hopefully I get to it soon.

  2. JULIA KNEALE says:

    Some captivating imagery here. Love it!

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