I used to pride myself
in the bold statement
that I had no interest
in Cat Stevens
To me
he was in the oeuvre
of middle-aged white men
toting acoustic guitars
and singing droopy songs
One day
annoyed by my hollow decrees
my partner sat me down
and made me listen
to “Father & Son”
Rather than whining
there was an inverted echo
between the old and the young:
the old have gone and now must stay
the young have staid and now must go
I thought I’d heard Cat Stevens
But I was listening to Yusef Islam
Before he left
and turned into himself