Future Cat Ladies of the World
Have you ever seen the hoarding cat ladies
I could see me being one
Except I hate cats
They smell funny
And germphobes end up cleaning the kitchen with bleach
Just out of disgust
How many just got tired of the boring drudge of housework?
Where every little mark on the wall became a recrimination
Where the endless details of stains, chips, and marks
Was a line so long without end?
Her name is Margaret, Maria, Rachael, Elizabeth, oh it really
Doesn’t matter, their numbers are legion
Whatever her name no one hugs her at night
As she returns home to open her
Can of tuna and to eat her crackers slowly
Until it’s time to go to sleep
And escape the world
She’s turning 30, 48, 55, 67, this October, this April, her parents supported
Her a long time or threw her out onto the mercy of the social workers
But she has yet to fall in love.
She tried to follow the rules
She dreamed of the prince that would come and take her away
From her parents and jobs that chapped her hands and paid too little
With bosses always shaking their heads, telling her she was too slow.
Told to always work on her appearance, always either too fat or thing
Without the right shape. Be empowered, be confident, have a good attitude,
Be anything but YOU!
The years slip through her fingers, the endless dead end jobs,
And being called a slob and just trying to make it
The prince never called, his white steed stayed away, only his fascimiles
Of ones that joined the chorus of deceit, drugged out, stoned out, psyched out,
Just out of jail, divorced, homeless
they wanted to take more then give,
Happy ever after nightmares, she was smart knowing there was worse things
Then being alone.
Time fading, she takes refuge in things, their pretty colors
A distracted to the faded grey of her life
Collections of cats, plastic pieces, knickknacks,pocketbooks, matchbooks, books, glasses
And nightly trashpickings reach to the ceiling.
Objects never leave, and objects never reject.
They just are.
Though they bury you.
What happens to future cat ladies and
Hoarders as their mountain of thrift items
Replace the dreams that have faded
What happened to the life that never materialized?
You can’t buy it, collect it, or find it in a dumpster
This poem I know used to shock my poetry club too. It's really about me and fears I had about my life when I was in my 20s, single and alone with a few edges of today's fears of living under the highway underpass. I also can take refuge too in things, though for me it has been sublimated in a more healthy fashion into a stamp collection where there's thousands of mini-pictures to look at. I have to go find my Queen Spider poem collection, I'll be sharing that later. Those haven't been typed yet. I'll put them up as a series.