Kitty At The Poetry Reading by Aurelia Lorca

 

I am listening,
but cannot help but notice
a calico cat slinking through the audience:
Of course she stops and rubs against
the legs of Joel Landmine, who reaches down
to give her a little scratch without
taking his eyes off the poet at the podium.
The kitty moves on, she does not mean to be rude
or distracting. She slides against MK, the birthday
girl of the night, and purrs for a moment in appreciation.
I lose sight of her after she circles around Razor’s feet.
He later says how the same kitty had once
sat on his lap through an entire reading,
though what he read made it kind of odd.
I don’t know, I just think that like all cats
she embraces the ineffable effable deep and inscrutable
way of things and people and in other words,
has some damned good taste.

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