THUGWISE CAT
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Went Over To Poe’s Place<br />
By Frank Grigonis<br />
He was tipping one back<br />
as usual, one of his tooyoung<br />
cousins, I mean. So<br />
in the moment he didn’t<br />
hear me ask if he wanted a<br />
beer. Then this singular<br />
squeak assailed my ears,<br />
which turned out to be a<br />
skinny black cat pushing<br />
open the chamber door.<br />
“Can’t you see that I am<br />
presently engaged?”<br />
implored Poe, his eyes<br />
rolling into the black<br />
caverns of tragical affection.<br />
But by now the black cat<br />
was rubbing his knobby<br />
spine against my shivering<br />
shin, so I didn’t say a<br />
thing but instead watched<br />
with horror as Poe’s<br />
cousin transformed into a<br />
250 pound Wal-Mart<br />
shopper fairly covered<br />
with raven tattoos. “What<br />
can it mean!?” I screamed<br />
to Edvard Munch who was<br />
busy painting something on<br />
the sanguine’s shopper’s<br />
ever-widening thigh. “Never<br />
mind that!” shrieked the cat<br />
with eyes wide like empty<br />
saucers, “Just get me to a<br />
shelter before he kills me<br />
with one of those sordid<br />
stories!”<br />
Author bio: Frank Grigonis writes poetry and fiction. He likes Rimbaud and cats,<br />
not in that order. He can be reached at fehu9@netzero.net.<br />
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