The year my cat judged me

In a year stitched together like thrift-store denim,

 he stumbled through corners,

picking up story bits like beer caps in a parking lot.

Days slid past, sometimes smooth, mostly jagged as hangovers.

A digital whisper nagged,

slick riddles in robotic hum,

pushing him toward neon-lit truths

 and half-drunk icons.

He hid behind a pen name,

words mellow as bourbon,

 labels peeling,

just cryptic enough

 to keep critics guessing.

 He conjured platforms

 like carnival rides,

 quantum sport and qubits,

 a picnic spread for ghosts

 with questionable tastes.

 Yoga found him,

sweating gently,

an awkward tango

with gravity’s unforgiving lead.

Daughters broke free,

unfettered from boarding-school walls,

memories fogged like cheap motel mirrors.

November’s a hard slap,

 his car hugged a pole,

 tender as a loan shark’s hello.

 Cannabis discarded

 like a bad jacket,

 veins etching age,

 a road map drawn

by an uncertain navigator.

 He toyed with quantum dreams,

visions scrawled like bar tabs,

 sports fusing with numbers,

the math of hopeful gamblers.

His cat watched,

a sardonic guru,

teeth nibbling softly

at life's bitter ironies.

Stories unravelled across Ikea tables,

 scarves slung carelessly,

 love flickering like a broken neon sign.

 And still,

a quiet shuffle of thoughts,

the poet’s waltz,

shambling towards tomorrow

with sarcastic elegance.

FSF