Uncharted Waters
Standing alone
In the cool summer evening
Looking out across the shimmering bay
Reflecting beams of the first June moon
It all comes back to me
The smell of sea weeded wood
Barnacled with age
Wearing its salt coat like a crusty blanket
Sheltering its creaking framework
From further decay
Brings a rush of sleeping memories
Sweeping, fractured images
That settle like a fine mist
The harbor air, thick with foam
Tastes of brine and salt spray
I see the old Schooner now
Rising fast toward the surface
Rushing up through the murky depths
Of the ancient bay waters
Breaking free of the rusting chains
That held her for so many years
Casting off the anchor of her past
Groaning as if giving birth
To her newly found freedom
She breaks the surface
The gulls cry in startled recognition
As the carved maiden rises
Drinks in the fresh sea air, and sighs
The Schooner settles into the soft swells
Her bilges drained of silt and time
Cargo long since strewn to the currents
I was forsaken on that vessel
If only in my father`s dreams
A sailor`s son without a ship to call his own
The old Schooner becomes my home
And sinks back, into the depths of time
© 2000 by phattkat
Cat Town
Have you ever been to Cat Town
on a dark and rainy night
down a lonely alley stretching out
beneath the pale moon light
past the shiny metal canisters
and dirty brown brick walls
that connect to steel stairways
leading up to darkened halls
Where the street is always slippery
from oil and grease and grime
and where if you are not careful
someone might commit a crime
that includes you as the victim
on a dark and rainy night
while from shadows and dark corners
watching everything in sight
are the residents of Cat Town
furry creatures and their King
yes, the sleek and stealthy feline
known as Kitty by his Queen
All the other little creatures
scurry round the darkened street
making squeaky little noises
nibbling crumbs and spoiled meat
then as if on cue they gather
close together in a huddle
by the dumpster on the south side
near the fence and deep mud puddle
While their little ears are listening
for sounds of padded feet
they are softly paying homage
to the one that rules the street
they are singing all together
the same song they sang last night
being careful not to wander
too far out in pale moon light
where they might become a tidbit
on the menu for their King
so they always start the show on time
and this is what they sing
`While most of you are sleeping
furry creatures are out creeping`
down in Cat Town
down in Cat Town
`Big bad bow-wow barks and drools
but it`s alley cat that rules`
down in Cat Town
down in Cat Town
`Now this song we gladly sing
Summer, Winter, Fall and Spring
for the Kitty, our great King ....
`He just loves to do his thing`
down in Cat Town
down in Cat Town
© 2001 by phattkat
South Street
The sign over the
white porcelain water fountain
read `COLORED`
next to it was a new
stainless steel water fountain
the sign read `WHITE`
I knew immediately
that I was drinking
out of the colored fountain
the water was warm you see
the colored fountain had warm water
how did I know that
without reading the sign
just an assumption maybe
an uneducated guess
something you didn`t learn in school
but were taught every day
by professionals in the field
Mordy Epstein, George Tom, and Clem Cheetum
quickly let me know of my error
in loud frantic whispers
`you’re drinking out of the nigger`s fountain`
I remember clearly
what flashed through my 12 year old mind
that moment so long ago
in Woolworths five and ten cent store
in Vicksburg Mississippi
in 1962
1318 South Street
was our address
on the edge of black town
only a hedge, a hill
and the color of our skin
separating us
from the tin roof shanties
of the poor black folks
that were our neighbors
My mama would say
`those poor Negroes, I wonder
if they get enough to eat`
to which my father would reply
`Well, why don’t you invite them
over for dinner sometime honey`
and chuckle to himself, quite amused
I took my time finishing my drink
from the white porcelain fountain
with the COLORED sign over it
and when I stood up and looked
at my three friends
they just sort of stared at me
for the longest moment
but they never mentioned it again
just sort of looked at me oddly at times
wanting to know
but afraid to ask I guess
afraid I might answer them
and say what everyone else was thinking
that George Tom was a chubby little Jap kid
Clem Cheetum was a half breed Choctaw Indian
and Mordy Epstein was a Jew boy
and me, well I lived on South Street
on the edge of black town
where rumor had it
that my mama invited Negroes over
to have dinner with us
and that her son hung out
with misfits and such
and drank warm water
from colored fountains
© 2000 phattkat
