Friday, July 05, 2013

V. 2, #99: July 5, 2013

If you're going to share your domicile with cats,
you'll have to deal with dead things now and then.
Decapitated chipmunks, stiffened rats,
three-quarters of a squirrel. They'll bring them in,

or leave them on the doorstep like a gift,
a gruesome, sad, first-class delivery.
Those critters not as healthy, not as swift
as their kindred, are doomed. All shivery,

one day I took a shovel to the fence
behind our house, where in the knee-high weeds
a half-skint rabbit lay, gasping for breath.
The blood bejeweled her fur like ruby beads.
Her almost-killer lolled, all innocence,
and licked his paws while I clubbed her to death.

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