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Should this morning poem appear
Disorganized and blurred;
Disparage not the maker please,
For how this has occurred.

For I was typing at my post
As everyday I do;
Stirring the ingredients
Of our self-storage stew.

To my right a cat appeared
To bask in morning light;
And to my left, another cat
Hell-bent to first cat fight.

A gentle nudge, he with his paw,
Into the first cat’s face;
And from the sunlight basking cat
Was pushed to a new place.

Not amused by what occurred
The first cat stood and growled;
The second cat, dismissive he,
Closed his eyes and scowled.

First cat leapt across the keys
Upon which I had typed,
And landed on the scowling cat
Who growled and hissed and griped.

Things got ugly fast and sure,
And items flew and fell;
Telephones and books and pens
As I began to yell.

Obedience is not a suit
A feline wears too well;
Together they ignored my calls
In hopes their fight to quell.

The stapler fell upon my foot,
The scissors to the floor;
Then they tumbled off the desk
Then quickly through the door.

Up the stairs I heard them go,
Another venue called;
Somewhere to an ante-room
Their discord they had hauled.

And so it was, this morning poem
In birth founds its delay;
Though backed against the wall was I,
I hope that it’s okay. 
Published inPoetry

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