Whenever I read that a poem or song or any piece of writing really is “too on the nose,” I’m left scratching my head. It’s as if there’s something wrong with being direct … with simply having something to say and then saying it without wasting a bunch of time on fluffy language and needless metaphor. Sometimes, a writer just wants to get to the damn heart of what he or she wants to write about. That’s admirable to me.
With that in mind, I present to you a short piece of poetry that strips away all allegory and reveals my raw, bleeding emotions. It is called…
I Really Hate it When My Cat Takes a Shit Right After I’ve Cleaned the Litter Box
I’ve scooped up all your fecal treats,
Which is something I abhor;
Swept crumblies fallen from your feet
Plus the turdlings on the floor.
Mopped up your piss from where you missed
Or just didn’t care to try.
Strained my back and twisted my wrist
Pouring litter in your stye.
All the while you stood watching me
As I strained to clean your john.
Judging all my work silently;
Never, ever letting on
You had need to bury a deuce
In the sands that I’d just swept;
Your bowels were feeling quite profuse,
Which is something I’d accept
If I’d had known before I bent
To dig through your excretions —
Possibly warned of your intent
To drop some more secretions.
Instead, you wait ‘til I am through,
Nearly ready to retire,
To clamber your ass up the loo
And squeeze out another tire.
Then away you hop, ten pounds less,
Having emptied out your guts —
Pushed everything into that mess
That came flowing from your butt.
Do you bury? Of course you don’t,
That would really be too kind.
Instead you split to the unknown,
Leaving litter-prints behind.
So, I clean up what you have shat
Just as I did right before.
Cursing you as I scoop your scat
From the box and off the floor.
Like a dog to vets, Harry to pits
Or the krelboynes to the jocks:
I really hate when you take shits
After I’ve just cleaned your box.