We all stood by the door

Waiting for it to open

So we could get in

Out of the cold

And start our

Impossible jobs

The other wage slaves

Chatted merrily

About everything

Trivial and permitted

As they always did

Because they were nice

And I stood glumly by

Wondering why they

Were alive

One of the nicest of them

Gushed at a skinny cat

That appeared at his feet

He bent down and petted it

And said it was a nice cat

I cursed under my breath

Stared into the snow

Then went to my car and popped

The glove compartment

And took the can of cat food

From off of the gun and

Headed back to the shivering

Mass of slaves

And the cat

I opened the can

And dumped the food but

The cat wouldn’t eat

A middle aged liberal woman

cooed at the cat

While the guy who’d been

Petting it stood up and said

Somebody should take the

Cat. The liberal lady turned

Away and continued the

inane and safe conversation

she’d

Been leading before. I though

Of my small place and five

Cats and asked the nice people

If one of them would take

Him or her

Most stared at the door

A few made lame excuses

As nice people do

I petted the cat and looked

For a tag

there wasn’t one

The door opened and the

Slaves filed in. I scruffed

The cat, carried her to the

Car and put her under a

Coffee-stained

Blanket covering the

Coffee stains on the passenger

Seat. I waited until lunch

Then drove her to

To my ramshackle place

With a No Nice People

Sign on the front door


–Fyodor Bukowski

Buy my book, you cheap bastards:

my book

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