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About This Author
My name is Joy, and I love to write.
Why poetry, here? Because poetry uplifts its writer, and if she is lucky enough, her readers, too. Around us, so many objects abound to write about. Once a poet starts with a smallest, most trivial object, he shall discover that his pen will spill out what is most delicate or most majestic hidden inside him. Since the classics sometimes dealt with lofty subjects with a lofty language, a person with poetry in his soul may incline to emulate that. That is understandable. Poetry does that to a person: it enlarges the soul and gives it wings. Yet, to really soar, a poet needs to take off from the ground.
 
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A Cup Full of Humble Fragrance #470783 added November 23, 2006 at 6:50pm
Restrictions: None
Daddy O'Cool
“He was one cool cat, and now they’ve taken him away from me.” I sobbed at the sergeant’s desk all shook up as he took notes.
“What was it like, Joe? Tell me a little more about it so we can conduct a through investigation.”
“My granma left him for me. She said she wasn’t his first owner but what the heck! He sat with me all day sipping his gin from a straw. Never needed food, never needed nothin’. Just a little bit of what I’ve got. He’d listen to me talk all day. He was my best friend, he was my pal, Sarge.”
“He didn’t talk back at you or tell you what to do, did he?”
“He’d look at me through his glasses and I’d know what he’d mean. Just like that. I thought sometimes I heard him talk but I ain’t very sure of that.”
“Very interesting. Tell me, Joe. Did you ever want to be him or to be like him?”
“Oh! No, Sarge...I couldn’t be him even if I wanted to. I just wanted to be with him and serve him day and night.”
“How did you serve him, Joe?”
“I’d dust him, clean his paws, straighten his straw...Stuff like that. Now, he’s gone and I’m ruined.”
“Don’t you think you have less work without him so you can concentrate on your other problems now?”
“I couldn’t concentrate on no problem Sarge, not without him sittin’ with me. I keep calling his name all day.”
“Oh, he has a name?”
“Yes Sarge, I called him Daddy’O Cool. He loved that name, too.”
“Is he your daddy, Joe?”
“Wish he was, Sarge. Wish he was...”
There was a knock on the door. The sergeant yelled, “Didn’t I tell you not to bother me when I’m with someone.”
A man shoved his head through the halfway open door. “Sarah at 3B is having another attack. Do you want a take a quick look?”
Sarge got up, “Joe, stay here. Don’t move. I’ll be right back and we’ll continue with Daddy.”
As soon as he left I wanted to take a peek at his notes. I had a right to know. It was my case he was investigating.
He wrote:
“Psychosis. Fetish worship. Calls the object, a small white porcelain cat figurine, his daddy. Talks to the object. Early childhood trauma may be indicated. Taking the object away did not help. Atypical Antipsychotic Therapy in conjunction with psychotherapy will be followed. We need a through medical evaluation. Check for diabetes mellitus. Frequent checks for weight gain and triglyceride levels after we put him on clozapine, pending on the outcome of the medical examination.”
There were footsteps in the hall so I rushed to my seat.
Sergeant entered with Daddy O’Cool in his hand.
“Joe, we have located him. You can take him to your room now.”
Happy ending ha, don’t you think? Sarge knows soooo much...He knew how to find what’s missing, didn’t he?
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