I was sitting there.
It was hot.
Too hot.
So hot that it made murder
seem plausible
and hate
the only purpose
of the human race.
I am a freckled white man
with
white eyebrows
and
white eyelashes
and very
white ass.
whatever pRiVilEdGe such whiteness may entail
it stops, in the sunshine.
Close to the edge
of madness
or murder,
with the great failings
of the world
neatly tucked
in my pocket,
there he was:
the back alley maestro,
the dumpster diver,
King
of
the
concrete
Jungle,
the Street Cat.
He lay prone
and stretched,
on the sizzling concrete
watching me
watching him
as the sweaty
public
were forced to walk
around, his Majesty.
As if to further
demonstrate
his superiority
he raised a leg
at 90 degrees,
revealing
a surprising pair
of large testicles.
(In my head)
he winked
and then
with only the
grace
a cat can allow
licked those large testicles
with great pride
as us mere humans
fizzed
in the heat
like salted snails...
There is a lesson
to be learned here
but for the life
of me
I can't
figure it out.
About the Creator
Dean F. Hardy
Writer from Dublin, Ireland.
*All work here is owned by Dean F. Hardy*
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