State Of The Union

If all the fattened cats curled upon
all the worn coverlets
in all the overheated apartments
of all the slight and slighted folks
in this rundown town
were to be asked what they thought
of how bountifully 
they were living,

most would speak of it with approval;

those who did not
would admit only to a mild unease
about it ending suddenly someday
with the passing of 
the old folks who stroke them pensively
while staring out the window
at the cold.

What will happen then,
they would ask,
suspending their purring
for a few seconds of soft blinking
into the questioner’s eyes

before falling back into sleep.


About Tony Brown

A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

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