A Man with Nine Cats

by davidchrzanowskipoetry

Does a man with nine cats truly lead a life full of atypical occurrences and intervals?

I sit back, deeper into my rented sofa and watch the television with heartfelt intrigue. He tells the interviewer of his wife’s subtleties, emotional duties and reservations. I cannot help but wonder if she really exists. The only marriage I feel is real is the one created by the interviewer. It involves me, my eyes, my empty stomach, backache from the weeks labour, and of course, the man with nine cats.

His suit is not tailored, but blended with raw stitching – a race to finish before lunch. A car painted a shade of normality that most of us are familiar with, do little to cover the pain of a child who has fended off rats with Roman armour. Alone. His alcoholic mother drank with next-to-no balance, lost in headspace, yet he cares for his family. Ears perked with patients, enough to never tire of made-up stories from an imagination that lusts escape from torment.

If he had stayed aboard for one more stop he would have arrived at a church, or any building of conventional religion, extraterrestrial to most of us, but more exceptional than the documentary persistently claims and attempts to debunk.

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