Sad Kitteh Chauffeur

In the appalling rain
i drives Kitteh to her plase,

to teh train, to teh
cold seet by teh uninspiring window

nao evryting is goin to hell, yes?
I has a headache

there wuz no hugz, no “I missus
u,” no spase for mai piersed

hart. There B ppals everywheres
pullin my skirts apart, bein nice,

and so “cyoot!”
they ares. Eejit.

They R not u, obviusli. Silli
little fing. I keeps riting

and riting on the ‘puter
as if u will respond,

someday, somehow.