Da Dos

Tag: Cats

  • Bukowski: cats 2

    Bukowski: cats 2

    Gift

    you know
    the man in the back moved out
    couldn’t get his rent
    so I inherited this
    huge old cat
    big as an average dog
    mean
    yellow eyes
    old and furiously strong
    when he strikes with one of those
    paws
    the walls shake
    his name is “Butch” and he
    doesn’t play around
    he’s cranky
    has his own set ideas
    learned from somewhere
    long ago.
    he gets on the trip
    which is his
    sometimes he gets
    gone
    I’ll be petting him
    and then he’ll have me
    my hand trapped in his
    gut
    the teeth will incise into
    the top part of my hand
    And holding me there
    like that
    he’ll rip the back of
    my wrists
    with his two rear paws
    with the claws
    fully extended…
    I leave my hand there
    Until he’s finished
    then I
    lift it away
    rivulets of blood
    seep…he just
    looks at me.

    I’ll send him to you
    in a whole natural almond
    crate
    I’ll cut holes so he can
    breathe

    but beware when you pry off
    the lid

    I’ll send him to you
    just in time
    via Air Express

    upon that crate on
    National Poetry Day

  • Bukowski: cats

    Bukowski: cats

    It’s technically the offseason [sad tear], so unless you’re already craving mock drafts, theoretical trades, or god forbid, power rankings…time to switch gears.

    I like Bukowski, poetry and animals, and as it happens, Chinaski wrote a whole book on cats, one of which was named Butch!

    This is too much synchronicity to avoid, so I’m going to share some “Butch” poems this offseason. Enjoy.

    bad fix

    old Butch, they fixed him

    the girls don’t look like him much

    anymore.

    when Big Sam moved out

    of the back

    inherited big Butch,

    70 as cats go,

    old,

    fixed,

    but still as big and

    mean a cat as anybody

    ever remembered

    seeing.

    he’s damn near gnawed

    off my hand

    the hand that feeds him

    couple of

    times

    but I’ve forgiven him,

    he’s fixed

    and there’s something in

    him

    that doesn’t like

    it.

    at night

    hear him mauling and

    running other cats through

    the brush.

    Butch, he’s still a magnificent

    old cat,

    fighting

    even without it.

    what a bastard he must have been

    with it

    when he was 19 or 20

    walking slowly down

    his path

    and I look at him

    now

    still feel the courage

    and the strength

    in spite of man’s smallness

    in spite of man’s scientific

    skill

    old Butch

    retains

    endures

    peering at me with those

    evil yellow eyes

    out of that huge

    undefeated

    head.