When I was the insane asylum –
Where poets belong –
There was also a cat living there.

Unlike Christopher Smart’s cat,
This one seemed ignorant of theology.
Unless you consider being affectionate
A theological virtue, which
I do.

Being officially crazy at the time –
Because I had paperwork saying so –
Talking to the cat was not
Frowned upon.

I would say, rather,
It was encouraged;
Or, at least,
Encouraged a lot more
Than sleeping with
The nurses.

Not that I ever did that,
Even while officially crazy.

Instead, I went to therapy,
And talked to the cat,
Whose name ought to have been
“Jeoffry”,
But wasn’t, because
No one there knew that story.

When I told it to them,
They just looked at me

Like I was crazy