Thursday, April 26, 2012
I Can Dream
The older I get, the more I think,
for one thing.
So much of the world believes,
perhaps there’s something to it.
I don’t know, and, actually,
no one really knows, but
I’ll tell you this:
there is no way I’m coming back
as a cockroach, or some such.
If I have to have another
spin of the wheel,
and it’s not as homo sapien,
I’m trusting that I’ve done enough work
to deserve a rest for awhile.
And that means only one thing:
I’m coming back as a cat,
preferably one of my wife’s cats.
They eat good, play well, sleep a lot.
Easily occupied with objects
both dull and shiny,
and pretty much indifferent to
the ills of the world.
Of course, I’d have to be careful
to not get wrapped up
in the window blind cords,
or to lock myself in a cabinet,
and then there’s that whole hairball mess.
But, hey, all of that pales when compared
To multi-flavor treats and tuna….ahhh, tuna.
And brushing, can anything be better,
and don’t try to compare it
to your paltry back rubs.
Did I mention the tuna?