Cat Man poem

“Calling cats,” it confided, “tends to be a rather overrated activity. Might as well call a whirlwind.”

—from “Coraline,” by Neil Gaiman

Cat Man

He is kicking my seat back—not exactly kicking.

Stretching.

 

He asks his mother, “Where’s Cat Man?”

“There is no Cat Man,” she says. “Only Catwoman.”

The little boy stretches harder against my seat. “He’s like Spider-Man,”

he explains. “Spider-Man could shoot his web and snag the clouds and

drag us to Spokane.”

“That’s a long way from Austin,” his mother says. A long way to leave

her little boy with his father, then turn right around and fly home.

It was a whirlwind this morning, arriving for a 6 a.m. flight.

Cat Man, she wonders. Cat Man?

 

Call him all you want.

If he were on this plane he’d stretch

extend his claws

sweep at something only he could see

sense danger and turn away

nap until bedlam subsides.

Comments

  1. this poem makes my heart ache…

  2. If you make it to Spokane, wave in the direction of the Cascades….I’m on the other side.

    (What brings you this way, oh poetic friend?)