BEATNIK: A Poetry Collection

moonlight vacancy

the jazz is optimistic,

but I listen to it under

deaf ears.

ears that have listened

too long to the lies and

the moans of those

aching for more.

for wealth,

for stability,

for the end.

they cry

every day

and never get

their way.

then there are

the fortunate

who cry for what

they do not have.

they are cats atop a fence

and they don't let me sleep

at night.

I am a

house cat.

no, maybe

not a cat.

a mouse.

a fat, lazy mouse who's

too afraid to come out

from the wall.

when cheese falls

I scurry out to catch it,

then race what I can grab

back to my hole to be

sallowed whole.

then I

starve

again.

and I go to bed listening to

the rich cats and the poor cats

and wonder how I got so lucky.