FRIDGE SYLLOGISM
my cats, great philosophers
that they are
assure me
that inside my
old fridge
it is
pure utopia
a Platonic communist state
jam packed with delicacies
for all
felines
to share
each according to their need, and
power to irrutate
and I, for my Sins (all of
which pretty mortal), have
five of
them, one Socratic,
another Nietzschean and the
rest undecided whether
to follow Slavoj
Zizek or
call themselves Arisotelian
masters (and mistresses) of
the art of the syllogism
each of these
little logicians
expert at reasoning
and so would you be too
if you believed for a moment,
as cats indeed do,
that we
are blessed with
a modicum of rationality
if not an entirely rational species
whose yes/no, valid/invalid, true/false binary processes
can be read off their faces
and exploited to
ensure the
keys to
that aforementioned
paradise are not
left entirely in human hands

