Fred Aiken Writing

Category: Poetry

I think my cat is hoping that I fail,

though I can’t figure out why

since my success or failure determines if I’m able to feed her Friskies or some fancy Martha Stewart branded shit,

but she might not eat any of it either way,

since she just wants to see me squirm through life until I admit defeat

quickly making waves out of glass

while pouring gallons of milk and blood down the drain

so the sewage system stays revitalized

to tackle tomorrow’s problems today,

or however the phrase goes,

maybe it’s closer to eat shit and die already,

but I’ll leave that to the taste makers to taste test

whether my bodily functions are poison or not

the moment it all comes undone,

then it will all make sense,

but more than likely there won’t be

anyone to reason it out,

so let it burn