Kitty, Don’t Shoot

Angela J. Perry

The cat is listless, so is my trigger finger
I blame god and the origin of the heavy boogie
It’s all because of the opiates, or lack there of
A budding romance with a 99-cent store cowboy
I wait anxiously for my can of Comet and green flip-flops
But still the cat, the drugs, the gun—all of it’s mine
Oh, lucky me, pretty paupers pulling down my panties
And I’m so lit I giggle and let them in
Waking with a headache over the head I just gave
The cat is sleeping, she’s still pissed I had her fixed
So I sit with her and sniff my thesaurus, it breeds peace
Maybe I should care less about my cowboy, but he delivers
Then I think they fixed the wrong one
Now I’m listless and the cat’s playing with the gun