Il Gatto
A cat on the Persian rug
Stretched and gave a kingly shrug
Without a word to say
And went upon his way
Creeping like fog on cats’ paws tread
Abandoning his bed
For higher feline quests
Perhaps of mouse arrests
Perhaps of strolls on Park Row
Where fancy ladies come and go
Talking of Michelangelo Il Gatto
Or Rudolph Valentino.
For tea a meeting in the park,
Twilight, a nap, then catting after dark,
Mixing with the cool cats
Singing hot scats
Jammin all night
Flying higher than a kite
Pursuing Miss Kitty
In a tomcat city
Licking her fur
To a rhythmic purr
Hiding on the wrong side of the tracks
Scratching their sleek backs
Till daybreak’s hues
Domesticate our muse
And the milkman’s yawn
Calls forth the dawn.