to skin a cat

while stroking his beard
he tells you with a wink,
a grin,
a grizzled smile, showing
his bad teeth,
his grey tongue
that there is more
than one way to skin a cat.
you want to ask him
why would anyone
even want to skin a cat.
for what reason?
but you don't say that,
he's invited himself
to sit next
to you outside
in the arcade and drink
his black coffee with you,
a familiar face.
what are you drinking?
he asks. not one of those
girly drinks
all sugary and pink
with sprinkles, is it?
he laughs, throwing his
head back. what looks
like ashes comes out
of his mouth, his eyes
water, then he starts coughing,
really coughing.
the kind of coughing that
might result in 911 being
called, but he stops.
finally.
he points at your drink
with a long yellow nail,
and says, do you mind if I
have sip of yours,
got a frog in my throat.
you look at him, and say no.