a cat is a cat is a cat is a cat

she’s whistling and clapping
for the cats
at 2 a.m.
as I sit here
with my
Beethoven.

“they’re just prowling,” I
tell her…

Beethoven rattles his bones
majestically

and those damn cats
don’t care
about
any of it

and
if they did
I wouldn’t like them
as
well:

things begin to lose their
natural value
when they approach
human
endeavor.

nothing against
Beethoven:
he did fine
for what he
was

but I wouldn’t want
him
on my rug
with one leg
over his head
while
he was
licking
his balls.

Charles Bukowski
You Get So Alone at Times That It Just Makes Sense (1986)

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