King Mittens

by Douglas Robert Turek

Drapes, velvet curtain, heavy air
incomplete, but with processing power
the front door speaks
the chokehold relaxes from the window and admits the sun
tiny sparkles bloom simultaneously throughout a window
it bleeds photons, and lives off them, too
(like some faulty vampire appliance)
the cat pounces on the carpet
and basks in a bath of sun
instigated by its own meow
and clever programmers
finally, it is like unto a god

In the kitchen, a foil bowl grows cat food
tuna and chicken and molecularly identical
and at long last (fifteen minutes, tops) the plastic dome on top retracts
self-repairing, ever maintaining, and this is the upshot
the cat gets to live forever
served by an invisible army
following even into the night in mouse hunts
which turn into sparks of surreality
that kleig light the rodent in question

Checksum after checksum after checksum
the ghost of man in the world's biggest dumbest adding machine
too dumb to make mistakes
and as little errors creep in on gamma ray staircases
the house is a vet as well
and has decided that this human has turned into a cat
and will fix the problem over time
after checking with a medical school brain
that percolates away somewhere in Montana
and has figured out many things
it fuzzes out its logic in an equivalent of eureka
it can be done, it can be done

The rainforest has reclaimed the world
and with the help of automatic park rangers
only the arctic is no shade of green
and meerkats and monkeys congregate
making much of their vastly improved situation
and somewhere in Brazil
a park telephones up a veterinarian and conference calls a Montana brain
and they come to the remarkable conclusion
surrounded by reforested suburbia and former desert and thick jungle
that all of thses humans are sick
and must be cured and reunited
with King Mittens

©This work is copyright 2001 by Douglas Robert Turek. Reproduction or distribution is forbidden without the express written permission of the author.