Whiskers of a Wildcat

Whiskers of a Wildcat

A Story by David L. Nelson
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Leaving the family farm for the big city

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Whiskers of a Wild Cat

      Well aren’t you just the whiskers of a wild cat scraping against the spokes of some unlucky suckers fat tire bicycle sliding and screeching down the slope of a gravel road that has never seen a map on fire and he hopes it will light his way into your jungle queen heart even through the scratchy wool curtains of an ebony night he screams your name until his tongue is nothing but love mumbles too bad you are headed the other direction in an electric yellow Cadillac and didn’t even notice all cupids arrows streaming past your tinted windows pointing towards a mystery you possess most all the answers to and it’s no U-turns for you at this speed the road may as well be made of greased glass and every light is green and getting greener than the tin horn lover you left behind on the road to nowhere will he ever find a woman like you to fill his head let alone his bed is a desert and he is so parched for a little love nectar would bring him back to life in an instant he will lose his way and spiral towards a graveyard of his own fractured confusion reels inside his mind as he begins to unwind his sorrows in a river of poison he thinks will sweeten the deal for an hour or two days from now he will be seeing double trouble twice as often as the day before he laid eyes on you he felt for the first time in twenty odd years that he had found the only thing he lost worth keeping was an image of you which did not reflect so much as a splinter of who you are or who you have decided to become another woman he was so sure fit like a shadow walking along side him that turned out to be a ghost fading into the fog of his recent past and present all tied up in knots and tangles too twisted to figure out a way into the future he’s caught in the wicked web of what could have been if you would have just stayed down on the farm and put on your picnic apron and fetched the beans and coleslaw like his mother always told him you were the wild child of their small town had never seen the likes of you ran around with every boy toy until all their young muscle podunk hearts where deftly juggled against the calendar of your coming of age took its toll on the spry young lads who thought they could subscribe to your affections for a long term lease with a box of melted chocolate and a hand full of bloody roses only to be left hanging on the line like some cold fish as you painted your nails and giggled their names to your best friends finally realized your power as a young woman would turn you into a ravenous amazon so it was best for them that you left the countryside altogether and head to the big city and the rocket elevator to the top of some skyscraper where you would claw your way to the penthouse and grab Mr. Moneybucks by the heartstrings and cleave him to your chest until he melted into a pool of stocks and bonds you could dip your desirous wishes into when a whim crossed your mind and you felt a fancy to subtract your self from the equation on a permanent basis only to discover the fat cat you have been rolling around with was a man with a plan you did not understand how he could be so heartless to such an innocent little thing like you never saw the truckload of karma careening around the corner as you dragged your handmade Italian suitcase out into the mean streets and the cold light of day fell on you with all the grace of an avalanche of misplaced deeds coming home to roost in the weeds and seeds stuck to your silk stockings didn’t seem to fit as you walked the rocky road back into your home town and ate the hot dry dust of the dented pick up trucks speeding by with young men howling with laughter as they spit tobacco out the window and slapped their knees at the sight of you returning to a life that doesn't fit you any more than an plywood polka dress at the fireman’s ball in the steaming July night you took your lucky break and snapped it in twain like a dried twig into little bits and pieces which are only fit for kindling the hope of a new flame that has never heard your name has been spread around the county like a virus that infected the locals and now they are immune to your beauty doesn’t fit quite right into the mirror on your bedroom wall is cracked with anger at having to sleep in your empty bed with the aroma of no man whatsoever calls and the phone is always for your mother tries to buy you things to bring you back to speed but that never fills the gap of what you really need and you sit in your room waiting for some sweet redemption to burst through your door and sweep you away to a brighter day where the band will play some sweet rhythm to sooth your woe but sooner or later you will get to know yourself a whole lot better as you settle inside and forget your shameful pride is a lesson in life’s long journey towards your true self knows the scars will heal the wounds in your own tender heart of America’s small rural town and the door bell will ring and you will run down the stairs to some handsome buck and his rusted pick up truck will carry you away into the cool of the night will blow through your long blond hair as he whispers your name into your ear and you will finally hear the sound of love settle soft inside your soul will at long last be at peace in the land of milk and honey you comprehend that you were planted the the golden fields of someone’s idea of the American dream where your blue jeans fit just right in the clear August night.

 

©David L. Nelson IronWorks Publishing & Focus Fine Arts ®


© 2013 David L. Nelson



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Added on February 8, 2008
Last Updated on February 23, 2013

Author

David L. Nelson
David L. Nelson

Malibu, CA



About
I write poetry, fiction, short stories, essays and novels. Working in varied genres which span the spectrum, from humorous fiction to serious political essays. I am presently composing a book of poetr.. more..

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