The Fukushima Cat and the Filipino Dogs
Call me Mr. A, though A shouldn’t make you
think I’m called Andy or Aidan or Anderson or Alvarez
or anything like that.
What’s important, more than that I don’t want you knowing my name,
is that I was at a gig with a real sweet girl, she was eighteen at the most, and I know,
I’m too old
but that was it you see, I couldn’t go on, I was sick to death
of seeing the fog falling over me,
of being like a moor
in the morning after a night of rain.
If I told you about my ex-wife, you’d know
I’ve had a life of rain.
That’s why I started going to gigs,
I wanted to find a girl, call her the dew
on dawn grass
or if that’s too vulgar then call her Dawn.
So we were dancing, me and Dawn,
when the music just all of a sudden stopped.
I’d been feeling ill for a while, too many nights
googling until dawn came, isn’t that an irony;
I wouldn’t know how.
But I was tired and maybe it was the pills
or Dawn’s hand in my jeans, I started going dizzy
and then I was alone.
Mirror balls in an old Northern Soul dance hall,
though Dawn wouldn’t know what it meant
to slide across linoleum.
This empty room of mirror balls and given up
dance moves, and the stage had this fog over it.
Is that you, wife, returning?
And when it cleared there was no Dawn coming towards me,
but what I saw, oh Christ what I saw, was a cat standing like a man
and he was dressed in leather.
They were all in leather; the cat straddling a microphone,
the dog band behind him, but the thing is they all looked as ill as I felt, really wrecked.
He looked at me, the cat.
He looked at me and he screamed something I couldn’t hear
because one of the dogs had a saxophone and blew it.
He had a real jazz style that dog, real Charlie Parker.
They played a set, oh Christ they played a set,
and I started dancing, I’d never danced like I danced in that room to that music.
Man, that cat could sing.
They had this one song, Dawn Howl, and it was about me.
I mean it, they knew my name and everything, they kept saying it and looking right at me.
They knew about my wife too, all of it.
The cat kept singing this one line over and over,
he sounded almost like Peter Gabriel, like Peter Gabriel mixed with Roy Orbison
or maybe just like a really young Mick Jagger.
I’m telling you, I still can’t get it out of my head,
it went; You aint the rain, you the fog man, you the fog man,
you aint the rain,
you the fog man, you the fog man, you the reason
for this fooooooooooooooooooooooooooog. Then a dog hit this big guitar solo that killed me.
I knew what the cat meant.
When I came round I was in an alley behind the club
and Dawn was calling me these terrible names and hammering my chest with her fists,
but I didn’t care.
I just started singing the song over and over as I walked off.
You the fog man, you the fog man, you the fooooooooooooooooooooooooooog man.
Mr. A! she was shouting after me, but I kept walking.