WHAT’S THE REAL
VICTORY OF A CAT ON A HOT TIN ROOF?
Now you tell me: how does it feel to filter
flimsy feelings out, to let the last-ditch
languor in – to tin can or to litterbin?
And tell me how the hooch you hope to hold
it back and seat yourself, to suit yourself less
tax return – on liquor, lest cigarettes burn?
Hell, do they ever know it?
Nobody says: ‘you’re dying.’
You needn’t even fool them;
they have to fool themselves. *
A hardness of the soul in contradiction
to soft shroud, is like a harness to those
monsters – shush, for crying out too loud!
Yet the hurdles you are racing – raise
them up, or stand aloof! For only final
expirations re-purr’fy our limping roof.
Do you not think I know that…
That I have gone through this
hideous transformation; become
hard, frantic, cruel!! *
Now did you see the current stream
of consciousness, prismatic light,
slide through the shower curtains?
And did you fear all tiles ’d subside
absurbtle… albeit certain?
Maggie’s caught living proof!
* © Tennessee Williams, Cat on a hot tin roof (1955)