Cat

a poem by Roger B Rueda

You don’t have a long tail and sharp claws –
I don’t know how come you are called Cat.
For me, you are frightening –
a kentauride on my mind
as you scowl there on the sly.
Your subtlety is so plain –
don’t ever say anything now,
I’m not thick like your flunkeys.
Don’t touch the Bible.
Don’t pray.
You’re Beelzebub.
Now I understand –
you are Cat.
In turn, as I strip off your flesh,
I can see how sable your heart is –
self-seeking, avaricious, rancorous,
green, cross, virulent.
Your actions resound
with your horseplay.
Halt – we are not chickens,
in the lurch, thoughtless, chickens.
We are not crabs, either –
we don’t move sideways,
we don’t leave one up the creek.
Yes, you are Cat – we know you, well.
You shrink from tigers, lions, leopards,
cheetahs – you are an ailurophobe,
the lady of the flies, benevolent, devout.