My head’s stuck in a place where writing isn't,
and so I think, quite foolishly, I’ll write
a poem titled Cats. Why Cats, though?
I haven’t got a single thing to say –
whatsoever – about cats which hasn’t been
already said by some other ‘cat poet’.
I interview my cat. ‘Hey, cat!’ I say.
‘What is it cats like most? I’m trying to write
a poem and I need a starting point.’
Cat is unhelpful. This is no surprise.
She sits there staring at the door. I spend
the next half hour as ‘Keeper of the Gate.’
I tire of this endeavour, lock the door,
and thank cat for all of her help. She looks
at me, then sits upon my open notebook.