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