Dancing Camus

Here it is, the old deja-vu,
motherlode of demon spawn
dumped in my lap.

Nothing to do but the two-step shuffle.
Last time the cosmos belched its ballast
I went and grabbed a shelter cat,
promptly named Camus.
Might as well do some good
for a world with me as throne.

He stares me down in disgust,
having, originally, a normal name,
not some nihilist's piqued fuss.
Today, I dance to blaring music
because it so well defies thought.
I imagine dancing for one certain person,
in a real outfit, not my ”mystifying" garb,
he calls it, of guilt and blame.

But that is what I always wear,
second, third and fourth skins
that shed yet I'm still here.
I'm going to shimmy right through
this deja-vu, up to the next exacting
streak of woe, or at least until I
twirl and trip, and break at least ten toes.

Copyright Julie K. Shavin 2009