The bottle that is not shared
has only one friend.
Both die empty and alone.
Dogs want full bellies
and the love of the pack.
This is why they understand us so well.
I never understood cats.
I have owned cats and been owned by one.
It was a stormy relationship.
Her name was Baby and I loved her, however
my relationships with bottles, dogs and my Missus
have been much less contentious.
If it were possible to convey the passion
of a Chopin nocturne in written words
I could go utterly deaf without regret.
The plastic plug in my ear notwithstanding,
I will not go deaf if I can help it.
Wind up the Victrola and let our dear Freddy play on.
Cats, dogs, bottles, and music
are sources of joy.
Missus and children are the fountain of hope.
Please play on Mr. Chopin, never stop.
The little goddess, her parents and aunts and uncles
all need your passion and peace to go on.
I need to write. I cannot stop.
Fueled with bottles of joy and Chopin,
I tap away into the night.
My words tic noc tic noc tic onto a screen
where strangers will see them.
Some will gush, others roll their eyes.
Him again? Yes, yes, we've heard it before,
air, water, soil, fire, stars and stink and threads weaving,
whatever butters your parsnips.
It hardly ever rhymes and the rhythm is odd.
but it keeps pouring out
and I can't seem to shut it off for long.