He And The Cats Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Mehdi lives in Boston
Has a house in repair and flat that he lives
And we talk of old times
Sometimes, now

“I served them like a dog in tough time.
Sacrificed and sent them out of wars.
Whom she named I saw mine.
Now she lives with lover of her past time.
Took the kids & brainwashed.”

Like windbag of Scotts, talks and talks.
He’s flame of fire
He’s lava
I hear

“And my will is simple…” he tells me.
I listen
He’ll leave what he has to others.
“They’re not my kids, can be his.”
And he sighs cold as if fridge door has opened.
“Two decades her name was her hearts his.
Possibly kids are his.”
And it’s sad.

I smile. We are far on the phone; he can’t see.
So I laugh, laugh out loud.
And comment:
“They are cats. They have heard of value to their shit.
They cover.”
And he laughs and we laugh and he shouts:
“That’s exact. They are cats; partners to your food but
Cover what they have.”