And so am I
A death sentence I thought
hit me, didn't hear what anyone was saying really
just fluids under the skin and pills crammed into
his throat and memories of other dieing cats I have
done this for, mechanically, distantly, as if someone else is doing it
and I am only watching
and then another blood test and he's normal again and
the pills and the fluids may be reduced and
my kitty, my best beloved cat who taught me that a cat
can be a purr machine and male and a mother to kittens
and sleep on the top of my head and have been rescued on a beach in Haifa
thirteen years ago, and he can be treated and brought back to health
and take me with him, in his large grey and whiteness and yows and
how can I tell you how much I love this cat?

At least you have a shred of a conscience, but you don't know what you've become.
You think you are my friend.  
When do we go out?  
It's too late for the drink you suddenly asked me about.
People may lie, but feelings never lie still, and when they can't be expressed
people move: eyes twitch, faster, quicker, chasing someone down who has no business knowing
anything about this
Your collaborator doesn't feel guilty, though.  
He's only afraid of being caught, ensnared
Really, he should have thought about it first
No one is supposed to be told when you are fired, so you are not supposed to
arrange for the new guy to come in and check out his new digs when you are being fired
when you are in the hell room, with the devil men, the stupid little vicious savages,
who can't make eye contact with me as they wrinkle their nose like an elephant skin and say
"it's not a good fit."  I laugh now.  
Not a good fit.  I'm sure, because they're all too small.
And I'd never let them try to fit themselves into me anyway.
Pond **** is not a good lover, or even a slimey frog.
Alas, the damsel, she doesn't want to pay for her sins so the energy
the unexpressed emotion, makes her scurry
the little princess, who has done the nasty deeds, scurries
Around and around, making herself look silly
and guilty, so guilty.

All beginnings are beautiful, the French say
Maybe that is why betrayal stings, a finger in a light socket
a lasting burn, like a blister on my foot, my pace is made painful
I walk wounded, stop to try to salve the wound, protect it with the gauze bandage of
"it is over now, he can't hurt you anymore" which bleeds through and needs to be
changed, reminded, advice and commiseration of friends is the antibiotic salve

I look at you and remember a one time mentor and now I watch your behavior
a plastic bag in the wind, your opinions and pronouncements tossed here and there
hour by hour, depending on who is there at the moment to influence you
Shapeshifter you are, talk is too dangerous now
my resentment bubbles over like a hot, shaken, warm soda, even if I try to keep
the cap on, once the froth commences, there is no help, I can't hide it as the liquid
radioactive anger spills forth onto my hand and onto you

So hard for me to accept the death of a relationship
You are still alive and breathing, so how can it be that something is dead?
But there is that dead space between us and a fear of you
in me, and memories, like little sores, in my belly of your abuse
of the wetness of my tears that destroyed the art of my make-up
washed away the eye liner on my bottom lid, as if it was my dignity

He loved it and it had become a part of the family, nestled among pictures of his family
moved away from the other chachkas, elevated
How you have turned 180 on me.
And there is no doubt now, that I hate you
The lies, to the bitter end, as you gave my job away
to someone else you suggested I give a pile of my hard work
to that person
I saw that little gift, the fetish of a wolf and I couldn't stand it being displayed like that,
behind your little bald head, your cold little body wearing a coat on a sunny day
How you slammed me this year for nothing
Tried to smash me into silence with words
Denied how rules were broken against me
even as it is as clear as day they were
And there was a symbol that someone liked you enough
to give you exactly what you asked for
Isn't that wonderful, to be so well thought of
that a follower would give you your heart's desire
the perfect little gift
So I lied.  
I said I wanted to borrow it and it's so easy to lie, I see.
Kind of intoxicating to lie in order to get someone to do what you want when you have no
intention of doing what you are promising to do.
You became so obedient, proudly handing it to me to "borrow"
But by the afternoon it hadn't returned and I think you were starting to realize
looking at me like a little boy, whose mother has destroyed his favorite toys
as it dawned on you, as it has, so many times before for me, that you had been done *****
If in that small way, you know what it feels like to be tricked, misled
If at that moment, you felt, it hurts
I am happy for it

Should I call you "Supreme Leader" little man?
Smarmy narcissist, frightened one, I have found you out
Holding court in the lunch room we are all supposed to lick your boots
as your partner does
follow your example
as you do evil things, behind our backs
You order your little partner about, hither and thither, although she is supposed to be an equal
You played a role in eliminating me because I think for myself
As you lean back in your chair, directing the conversation
cutting people off in mid sentence, if it doesn't please you
Rudeness is not something you know of
nothing is sweeter than the sound of your own voice
you can learn from dissent, but this you don't understand.
That is how you make a better product.
You can value diversity and learn how people from different points of view
see things through a different lens, and maybe they see more clearly
But all you want is to listen, to that sound of your own voice
to dominate and shut out, and shut down, until there is no one left but you,
the Supreme Leader and no one to challenge you
and I hope someday, you will be left, all alone

You said you'd call today, you promised
I sit and wait, I've checked all day
my phone seems to surround me like a kind of cloak
or maybe a straight jacket, that I can't get out of
This morning, hope was in my heart like a rosy fog
surrounding me, now the fog stinks like the kind right before the Bay Bridge
I remember from childhood, holding a city hostage in stench
My breath seems connected to your call, that isn't there
I know better, I swore off you like a bad habit, like you are a bottle of ***** and I drank
the whole thing, day after day, so I rejected you but then,
I falter, maybe I was wrong. And by then I was hooked, the needle hanging from my arm.
The remains of your drug dripping from the wound
My only hope: not to know your number, to delete it, and delete it,
but I've called so many times now, I can't forget it
This week, I dialed the wrong number twice, such hope was in me
that finally my poison was out of reach but memory shoved you back in my face
The phone, my own phone, mocks me in it's silence
Such a pretty picture on the front, such a smart, intelligent phone
So silent and above me...taunting me, refusing to give me what I want:
your voice, your faux concern, no need for anger because I knew better
You, who I wait for as if my next heart beat depends on it, are no good for me
One thing I've noticed, can't say learned, because here I am again
if things are bad once, they don't get better
a crazy man gave me that advice about another like you
a man with too many concussions who couldn't paint a bathroom stall in a movie theater
without getting fired
and why did I ignore his advice again?
And why can't you give me such a simple thing?  
I know the answer.

Today I called, they weren't, have to be the bigger person
A silent treatment has begun, and I am the adult,
all over a cat, and what is wrong to do--
to care for him
who would answer the phone?
Father, on the first ring
and he sounded nearly dead
and hollow
like I should be concerned the depression
or sadness so dense like the rotting seaweed at Mitchell's cove
at times you can't even see the sand there is so much dead sea vegetable
and flies, forever flies and the smell, from far away so toxic but from up close
seems to dissapear or maybe is simply too overwhelming
as he sits in his million dollar home, planning his Brazilian keynote
he won't have to give until September
It's nearly April and is he happy?

I often wish I could be so cold to leave someone's head spinning with pain and destruction
and walk away, as if nothing happened and that person is crazy anyway
and abandon and neglect and think nothing of it
but is he happy
go lucky?
Am I? Who endured so many of his rants and am still rebuilding and re-evaluating the ruins of my psyche he had such a hand in destroying?
Is it possible, can I now admit, that there is nothing to envy in his position?
That he himself is tormented inside his own head?