Grimalkin

That fiend, Grimalkin.

An old she-cat,

contemptuous.

That needful, vermin-coursing cat,

outshining all cats.

Bukowski’s feline,

with deep remorse,

curled in his gnarled arms.

That venerable old Grimalkin,

with Italian airs,

accompanying the married folk into Suffolk,

fawning upon its victims before the festival.

Growling to herself,

quite disturbed,

more troublesome than a wife.