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A Year of Musing Dangerously by Russell Bittner < back : index : next >   

A Year of Musing Dangerously by Russell Bittner

All photographs are by Russell Bittner

F e b r u a r y

My cat walks in on foggy feet,
spacergifand I light up like Frost.
She slurs a purr—like dykes in heat
spacergifat face-off in Lacrosse.

With marbled eyes, she looks askance,
spacergifas if to say ‘How twee
that you should now romance a dance
spacergifthat Sandburg wrote for me’—

which then reminds me that her nails
spacergifmight profit from a clipper;
but as no sharper tool avails,
spacergifI lay siege with a slipper

which, flung in haste, cannot erase
spacergifmy misplaced attribution.
And yet she’s just a cat, I think,
spacergifwhile I dog execution!

You sound like Pound!” now lastly seems
spacergifinsipid with conviction—
as I know solecisms earn
spacergifthe Academy’s eviction.

That Frost is more at ease with fog
spacergifis to my cat not new,
since she views skewering similes
spacergifas what poor poets do.

And yet, if cats are what it takes
spacergifto shake up my redaction,
just like the grave, I’ll grind this knave
spacergifwith staves into retraction.



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