November midnight ambles in
With scents of mice in alleyways.
The shivering deaths of chilly days!
And now a whirling blizzard blows
Clouds black as crows
Across the lucent moon and silver stars,
Above the gold eyed sky scrapers, whose towers,
In harshness beat
Upon the winds that dive unto the cars.
A solemn watchdog whines and wildly howls.
A man alone re-wraps his scarf and scowls.
The dawn, from drunk unconsciousness,
With dozing memories of beer,
Awakes above the twilight street.
Unending slushy boots all press
To tired coffee shops.
Now, over all the sloppy floors
That one endures,
One greets all those toast scented hands
That open dingy doors
To warm unending dreary flats.
You tossed soft pillows off the bed
And smoothed clean sheets and coverlets.
I leaped upon them all, and sated
My desires, in wrestling wrinkles.
I dozed, and saw far more, revealing
Unnumbered rodent images —
All that these walls are well concealing:
They skitter high above the ceiling.
And when the night comes creeping back
And gutter sparrows’ twitters slacken,
You had a vision of the world
Alike my own, then, whilst I curled
Subversive, in your favorite chair.
Upon the bed’s edge, tired, with care,
You ran your fingers through your hair,
And clasped your ugly human feet.
I stretch and yawn, with meowling eyes,
In daydreams far beyond the block,
Then rise upon purrsuasive paws,
Abandoning you to your Bach,
Computer eyes too bleary, your dim skies
Uncertain, sure of all uncertainties.
I greet this beauteous blackening street
Impatient to reclaim my whispering world.
You’re moved by caring thoughts within you curled
Around my image, thoughts that charm and cling:
A vision of us, each “some infinitely gentle
Infinitely suffering thing.”
I rub my paw across my eyes and wash.
The world revolves like ancient kitty ladies
All gathering hungry strays in vacant lots.
Photo used for illustration purposes
Blaze Achew Panda-monium, The Sublime Mews Himself, evidently wrote this late at night after sleeping on my volume of T. S. Eliot’s works. He claims this is more like the original than T.S. Eliot’s version and composed by one of T. S. Eliot’s cats who modestly will remain nameless. As you can see, an attempt has been made to transcribe this in keeping with the standard north american feline purrnounciation and the associated appurropriate spelling.
Copyright 2020, Anissa Nedzel Gage
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