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The Artist

25 Mar

this player knew a secret–
first, he was comfortable
in his own tortoiseshell,
hovering by the Circle K
next to the CVS and Pizza Hut,
but was more than savvy
that the Circle K
was where
the actual game was.

For late-night beer drinkers
and lotto gamblers could buy smokes
and beer up to 1 am
–there, he reclined with his striped tail
acting completely oblivious, resting
near the door without a care
in the world

tired, the usuals came in
from their midnight shifts,
to snag a 6 pack, and hoped
for that big lotto win that would set
them up for life,

there he would greet them
loudly purring, rolling on his back
and winking at them,
‘aren’t I cute?’

he worked the crowd
and he had game, evidenced
by the beer which came out
accompanied with an overpriced
bag of kitty kibbles
or 9 lives
and left outside the door
with 5 others–
Cool, the cat,
became their good-luck mascot

he was effortless
had it down to a science,
and I have to agree
he was a smooth operator
because everyone respects
the artist who has
nothing to prove other than
just being themselves

© Brian Hodgkinson Jr. (aka) Limericist 2007 

 
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Posted by on March 25, 2021 in Poetry

 

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