Two Poems

Dear Owner,

your cats’ sex is surprisingly gentle

none of their normal passion

I assumed you wouldn’t want

that picture &I didn’t want to

take it so I didn’t but I just

thought you should know

your cats’ sex makes me uncomfortable

like I know you’d want it to

&the other night I stopped

masturbating when they came

in the room &approached

your sofa-bed I decided not

to experience deep pleasure

even though I’ve been incredibly

depressed throughout your trip

I knew you wouldn’t want them

to see that &you’ll be pleased

to know I didn’t want to see them

seeing that either &I didn’t bring

dairy or friends into your space

&I only cried in the shower

so they still only associate

tears with your face (assuming

you cry (sorry)) I hope

the photos made you as happy

as your replies suggested I hope

this is only their second life

&they really like your apartment

&want to live here forever

&the trip was better than

the brochure (or however you

imagine where you’re going next)

I like to get high &imagine

your cats are my dead father

I want to honor you today

I blabber my grief at them

while they try &kill each other

or do anything other than

gentle intercourse &then I look away

like I do from human PDAs on BART

or this guy I know hates me on his bike

at a stoplight the other day

when I realized your texts

have felt like his smile

which is what I was looking away from

so I decided to leave you a note

how do you like it so far?

maybe you have questions

like why am I sexualizing your monsters? Owner

they sexualized themselves

I looked away but ok fair point

I’m sorry this is just to say

the sofa-bed is still broken

&I’m still sorry I thought

it would fold like a futon

but it’s still comfortable enough

to stare at the ceiling

this is just to say

I have eaten / the prunes / that were in / the pantry

&which / you were probably / saving / for constipation

forgive me / they were disgusting / so sweet / & I was

so disconnected

from our species as your felines

started fucking dispassionately

like married humans who

regret I do I will buy

more prunes

you will have more overall prunes look:

I have no clue why your cats’ coitus

had me craving dried pitted fruit

but I do have to confess I lied

about why the blow dryer

was downstairs I didn’t know

my boots had holes

until I was walking Lake Merritt

memorizing my poem

It’s Raining Cats & Cats Out There!

in the first real rain in the Bay Area in forever

&if I could go back

I would let my boots mold &leave

your blow dryer upstairs

where I will never go again

&in the near future

I intend to evolve into a well-adjusted

adult who you trust

but for now this is just to say

your cats are really comfortable with me

the big guy gazed into my eyes while they—

which seemed to amplify my anxiety

&cause me to crave prunes

unlike most of the time when they cause me to


they seem to find my anxiety soothing

& I finally let it go

&I hope they make you feel that at home

when you get back

sheets are in the dryer


your pet sitter

First Cats

There’s a picture of Buxy leaping away from me

in a diaper desperately clinging to his tail as though

letting go would hurt me at least as much as my clinging

hurt poor Bux. Raison was Buxy’s housemate. I have

never seen a photo of her dragging me around the carpet.

I hope she never did. I want to see photographic evidence

I learned letting go way earlier than next time. I want to meet a woman whose tail

I will want to cling to &who falls that madly for me

&to know I won’t dread being alone so much our

love doesn’t seem worth it         when she leaves.

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