A poem by Michael Stewart

Fling me around if you like. You’ll find that I’m able
To land on two feet, like a bipedal cat.
I’m steadier than you are, more stable,
But you can count on little more than that.

For I am not a cat, at least I’m often not.
I’m like the headless, tailless quadruped
That even thoughtful Dr. Seuss forgot,
The one that makes grown men scared stiff of bed.

I get around. I’ve been from Chi to Hakkenkreutz,
From San José to Hackensack and back.
The streets of all your Denvers and Detroits
Are full of me, and yet you seem to lack

The slightest sense of who or what I am.
Well, guess it, then, for I can never tell,
Not and be myself. Only trust that I’m no sham:
The truth alone is in me and I keep truth well.