when time has worn right through my skin
and tasks ahead i can’t begin
my weary brain thinks only that
i wish, i wish i were a cat.

were that my only thought could be
a bird too high up in a tree
i’d lash my tail and arch my back
with muscles tensed for the attack.

i’d lick my whiskers, plan my spring
but falter when the bird takes wing
no matter if i miss that chance
a cat won’t give a second glance.

for cats have freedoms kept from me
no head for mute anxiety
no time but now, no deadlines missed
my only duty: to exist.

but if i were a cat i bet
i’d find some way to feel regret
i’d gaze through glass and ponder why
i’m pleased to let my life go by.