once a cat,
now a carcass.
tattered fur matted to rotting flesh.
alabaster bones exposed,
crushed into fragments.
entrails strewn out along the lane marker,
sticky and congealed.
parts of you traveled on,
even after death,
tire marks leading away from the crime scene
into the night.
all 9 lives consumed at once.
once preyed on birds,
now preyed on by birds.
lone wanderer who dawdled too close to traffic:
were you feral?
or just curious?
question:
why did the kitty cross the road?
I don’t know—
why don’t you ask him?
oh,
no response.
lived your little feline life—
bounding, pouncing, sleeping—
right up until those final moments
when you met your underserved end.
pinched and crushed between thick rubber
and hard unforgiving asphalt.
What Poetry Feels Like
tell me you didn’t suffer—
your pain-laden mewls
bleating into the void,
unheard.
those last few moments,
alone and abandoned,
til your final breath.
###
This is a poem from my first book, bearing the burden of existence, available on Amazon.
