THE BLUE CAT

 

Tracking the blue cat from SoHo
through the Village and Chelsea,
I lose her on Broadway near the Strand
where the new snow’s too trampled
by sleek models parading to work
in floodlit whitewashed lofts.
I step into the bookshop and scan
shelves of arcana and magic.
Nothing on the blue cat delusion.
But someone outside screams
that the blue cat has just passed,
mauling and gnawing people
too slow to get out of her way.
No one can say where she went,
so I slog north along Broadway,
hoping to spot her despite the crowds.
I’ve spent several lives chasing her,
desperate to stroke her metallic pelt.
But very few of her victims
remember that bold shade of blue
and the vast indifferent hunger
she spreads like religious angst.

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