101 PHOTOS OF MY DUMB CAT ELMONT
This was a project I took on in grad school. It was a minor course I took on to fill out my course requirements. My major was a triple, funded by a union grant through my local labor department. So the tab was half on the government and half by a trade union looking to get a foothold at a start-up factory in my town. Oh, almost forgot to tell you. I told the labor interviewer when she asked what my major was. I told her the truth. Sex, Bowling and Rock ānā Roll.
She looked at me with a mixture of surprise, disgust and disbelief. It seems she didnāt know what she was doing or was new on her job. Really both. She checked some kind of directory on courses covered by this labor program. It had expanded from helping carpenters, electricians and sheet metal workers, to social workers, and eventually swamis and fortune tellers, which today they like to call āseersā. Political correctness had made great strides in the last ten years.
The directory on qualifying trades and occupations was a bit out of date and had a printed supplement that had all the secondary courses that were eligible for a young, ambitious man who wanted to contribute his knowledge and skillset, they didnāt say skill any more, to benefitting local employers in the Midwest. It didnāt matter that the union was one of stevedores and waterfront workers. It had taken on a cousin union that was filled with a local public advocate firm. The interviewer finally found what sheād been looking for, which had some kind of supplementary category that seemed to cover my sex, bowling and rock ānā roll major. But doubtful she remained, excused herself and approached someone who appeared to be a supervisor on the office floor. He listened, laughed and waived her off.
When she got back to her desk, she looked at me, and said in a very serious tone, āYours evidently isnāt the first such case about the triple major you chose. Iāll be honest I hadnāt heard about it before today.ā
āSo,ā I ventured, āmy girlfriend is out of town this weekend. How ābout coming out with a guy whoās dedicated to the furtherance of sex, bowling and rock and roll?ā
She was ten years older than me, I guessed. But she wasnāt a bad looker. I really donāt know what made me do it. I was bored, I was aware of that. So far I hadnāt lied once about anything.
Her eyes widened, then darted at me. āYou canāt be serious,ā hissing the words. āIām old enough to be your aunt, your big sister anyway.ā
āBut I am. We could see how it goes.ā Boredom makes you brave.
āOh, really? Letās see. So this course youāre signing up for nowā¦Cat photography. Seems alright.ā
āYeah, I could shoot some pictures of you, too.ā
āAnd you have a cat named Elmont?ā
āIf I donāt, Iāll get one,ā I laughed.
āYou really are a very bad boy,ā she announced, and a broad grin arose on her face like sunshine.
; (SEMI-COLON)
Living without you is like
being a semi-colon;
itās breaking in on answer & response;
on the continuation of a thought;
an utterance abandoned in a spiritual wilderness;
a kiss proffered insisting on a kiss received;
itās two parties going on under one roof;
itās two adjacent walls painted in contrast;
each threatensāa bluffāto cross the dividing line;
it is not even an escort on a list;
more of a border guard seeing
that no one gets too close to anyone else
except in the most platonic sense;
or moves past too quickly or too far;
but lumbers on in an orderly fashion
as long as these written refugees hold on
to their own beat-up luggage.
Dancing without you is a morose twirling
stagger; itās playing Zorba with no one to see
and no dishes to smash; itās a semi-colon
where youāre drawn and severed
by the wild giddy horses of passion;
where the universe divides down the middle
of you and the stitching just wonāt hold.
SOLD OUT
No corn today,
weāre out,
yes, no corn
we had corn
but no corn now
nope, no corn
sorry.
Corn tomorrow?
Canāt promise
we ran out
earlier, yes
we had corn
but I told you.
What can I say?
we still have beets
yes, beets.
Gene Goldfarb now lives in New York City, not being able to decide whether this is just a very modern prison or an undeserved prize located in the center of the cosmos. Inherently lazy, he loves all sorts of things not requiring too much effort: reading fiction and non-fiction, watching all kinds of movies (including cartoons), travel all over the world, and international cuisine. He enjoys writing humorous short stories and poems. His funniest stuff has appeared in Black Fox, CafeLit, The Daily Drunk, Ratās Ass Review, and Twenty-Two Twenty-Eight.