Already
bearing my
cat’s deep and
deadly tats,
each day I
feed him he
gives me scant
hope. Perhaps
I’ll survive
just as I’ve
knavishly
loved his pats,
making me
neurotic,
overtly
psychotic,
questioning
rhapsodic,
sonorous
tones of his
unearthly
voice. Still, I
wonder why.

Xeroxed scars;
YouTube stars
zigzagging.

Ken Gosse prefers writing short, rhyming, humorous poetry. First published in First Literary Review–East in November 2016, he has also been published by Pure Slush, Home Planet News Online, 50Word Stories, and other publications. Raised in the Chicago suburbs, now retired, he and his wife have lived with dogs and cats underfoot in Mesa, AZ, over twenty-five years.