Don’t Make Any Plans, By Brian37 (AKA Brian James Rational Poet On FB/META and @brianrrs37 on Twitter)

Want to go to the louvre
Forget going out for hors d’oeuvres
Your life is not yours

Don’t ask me
To write any prose
Because who knows

What these little paws
Are going to be up to
Bouncing off the walls

Slam tackling NFL sacks
Forget getting up for
Midnight snacks

For if they’re sleeping
I cannot be moving
For I won’t be disturbing

These little buttons
With their furry mittens
They’re are not kittens

I am their minion
Their slave, their obedient
Servant

So sorry Silvia
I want to finish
The Bell Jar

But these two felines
Won’t let me get that far
I can’t take my eyes off them

They get themselves in trouble
When they are not sleeping
They are pro wrestling

Each other, and I am the reff
Fur up to my neck
But they are tiny specks

Attacking my feet in socks
I can’t tell them to knock it off
Their playfulness is the cost

In complete control over me
That wasn’t the plan at all
My pleasant downfall
(end)

I promise I will write some more new serious stuff at some point. But right now these little furry Higgs Boson particles are a handful and taking all of my attention right now.

When they are not bouncing off the walls and NFL sacking each other like linebackers or pro wrestlers. They are intwined in my feet attacking my socks. Or they are paralyzing me in my bed by lying on top of me, or under my legs to the point I don’t want to move because they are sleeping contently.

It has been a long time since I have been this happy. I have Vicki, my cab driver to thank for giving me Kelly and Anneplath.