COOLEST OF THE CATS

He sits there with his legs up
fingering his greasy locks
whilst massaging his no man's land.
With a glazed look,
his eyes decide what is cool and what is merely lukewarm.
Sometimes he'll muster a morsel of energy
to shoot you down with a click of his tongue.
If he likes he'll toss in a grenade for free:
A shit, a fuck, a Christ or a cunt.
A zippo lighter is his bling.
No one whips it out and flares it up like him.
He's a shepherd on the side. Imagine that.
A congregation of cotton balls obey his every word.
There's nothing wrong with him.
He's the coolest of the cats.
Everyone knows it but you.
He's the coolest of the cats.
Don't ask me why.