Who let the cat out?
Sleep did.
Sleep lifted the lid.
Let it roam
the alleys and backstreets
of the mind
rummaging through
memory’s bin;
Look what the cat
dragged in —-
half-buried scraps,
dead rats,
old what ifs.
Who let the cat out?
Sleep did.
My rubbish bin has lost its lid
& asks me what to do..
“How would you feel if your Id,
was exposed to full view?
All that rancour, all that passion,
the outright lies and fibs
You wouldn’t want someone peering in
the trashcan of yr Id.
And what if the rain should tumble down?”
“All right,” I say, “all right, don’t be such a squib,
I’ll phone the local council up.
You shall soon have your lid.”
Everyone should have their lid,
pleasant though firmly secured.
The Id is not a pleasant spot
& should not be long endured.
Perhaps I shouldn’t have said it
But I was just a kid
Stuck inside a senior’s body
And so I did.
I thought it showed a little wit
But it was way off grid
A sort of Heathcliff on the moors
A fugitive from my Id.
I should have kept a lid on it
Would have been better if I did
But not everything condescends
To sit sedately in the Id.
John Malone 