Cat Calls
(Poetry) "Sky and chipper, I'm all bark in my red mini, all laces and legs. I pound the concrete and puff past a man swaggering, all fedora and blaze,"
Out the gate, dodged a pack of tiny strays. Seven blocks to the train. Sky and chipper, I'm all bark in my red mini, all laces and legs. I pound the concrete and puff past a man swaggering, all fedora and blaze, who can't keep his mouth shut. I expect some rapacious, crass speech act as he holds me in his gaze he says "If God had made anything better," then smokes his grass, "he would have kept it for himself," and leaves me in the high of his wake, all taken and blank as he trips into the corner store the cat calls back "If God had made anything better he would have kept it for himself!"
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The term "cat calls" makes no sense. Nobody calls a cat that way.
The cat knew what he was talking about - I would have told you the same thing, twice also, as I admired you passing by. I should have tried to get your number........
Annie, you're a poet!