QUAERERE

Fearing I was missing, God

Took out an ad for my return

Or reliable word of my whereabouts 

In the Wolfenbuttel Aviso

For December 15, 1632. 

The Thirty Years War was then

An adolescent so God

Wasn't surprised that no one

Had time to tell him

Where I might be found.

Not giving up, He then

Engaged Eugene Francois Vidocq

Who searched Paris from April 1830 

Through July 1831. Vidocq concluded 

I was hiding among the unborn.

Since 1927 Schrodinger's cat

Has, from his box, acted as God's agent

Buying and selling, saving and damning.

He may some day tell God where I am.

Then again, he may not.

CAT

You doubt Schrodinger's cat is a poet?
Examine the evidence: He lives, if at all,
In a box -- rich poets are not common;
Following tradition, he relies on a patron
Who cares little about the cat himself
But only the glory he might cast
Upon the House of Schrodinger.
He is both and neither dead nor alive;
None of his works are in print yet his name
Is familiar to many who read no poetry.
Any day now he will and he won't
Accept tenure at a small university.

BLUEBEARD'S CAT

The part of the story they leave out

Is that just before the latest bride

Can touch the forbidden doorknob

The ghost of Dr. Erwin Schrödinger appears

Saying “For God’s sake, Miss, don’t!

According to my calculations

(And my cat has checked the numbers

Three times and a half)

Until you open that door

All former brides are alive and not alive

Murdered and not murdered.

More than that, all of them

Have written best-selling novels

Some of them have written best-selling novels

None of them even knows how to write

Except Mary-Lou, who pens the occasional feuilleton.

Until you open that door

They have all made ground-breaking discoveries

And none of them has, though Mary-Lou

Has built her own clock-radio.

Leave the door alone and you’ll be so happy

That God will wonder at it

Saying ‘I never made her

To be so happy as all that!’

While being so sad you’ll not go out

In daylight lest the heart of the world

Break into pieces too small and jagged

Ever to be put back together,

And all the other brides

Who will live and not live at the same time

Will be so happy, so sad

Except Mary-Lou. There’s no predicting Mary-Lou.”

But the bride doesn’t listen

And Schrödinger wishes he had stayed home

Sending his cat – a persuasive animal – instead.