My cat is freaking useless.
There’s no way to say it nicely.
Another mouse is in the house
And where’s the cat, precisely?
That’s just the point:
The cat’s right there!
In fact, she introduced us!
So now I’ve got two mouths to feed.
My cat is freaking useless.


I’m no more competitive than the next guy,
But the key word is next–he came later than I.
Not that it matters, but I was here first;
I won’t claim to be best, but I’m clearly not worst.
If the pool of competitors totals just two…
Well, I’m not into titles. I’ll leave that to you.

How To Make A Sausage (If You Care)

It’s time again to write a sonnet, so
Let’s get it done. A topic would be nice
But sonnet-writing’s all about the show
So merely matching meter will suffice.
Well, almost. It’s important that it rhymes
Appropriately, too: a-b-a-b,
Then c-d-c-d, then e-f two times,
And that it’s all tied off with g and g.
Plus, okay, there’s supposedly a scheme
That governs how the text is organized
In quatrains that all share a common theme
Until the couplet comes and we’re surprised.
O. Henry would have nailed the couplet turn
But hacks like me still have a lot to learn.


The little cats come clomping down
The boulevards and streets in town
Their thunderously velvet prancing
Setting shades and stemware dancing
Just the way that fogcats wouldn’t
If they didn’t know they shouldn’t.

Little cat feet might be cuter
If their kitty steps were muter;
When they come to these environs
Mostly what I hear are sirens
Wailing in the fogcats’ wake.
Silent, Sandburg? Big mistake.