my cat, the writer

as I am sitting her
in front of this machine
my cat Ting
sits behind me
on the back of the
chair.
now
as I type this
he steps upon an open
drawer
and out across the
desk.
now his nose is over this
paper and he watches me
type
then he leaves off
goes over and sticks his
nose into a coffee
cup.
now he’s back
his head across this
piece of paper
he sticks his paw down
into the ribbon
I hit the key and he leaps
off.
now he just sits and
watches me
type.
I’ve moved my wine glass
and bottle
to the side of the
machine.
the radio plays bad piano
music.
Ting just sits and looks
at this typer.
do you think he wants to
be a
writer?
or was he one
in the past?

I dislike cute cat
poems
but I’ve written one
anyhow.

there’s a fly in here
and Ting watches its
every
move..
it’s 11:45 p.m. and
I’m
drunk…

listen, relax, you’ve
read worse poems than
this…

and I’ve written
them.