Biting the Dust
I saw a cat the other day,
white against the gray pavement,
and I will write that dead animal poem,
though it might make someone sad,
that I stood around its corpse,
admiring its absolute stillness
after the cessation of all its organs,
no rising and falling of breaths,
though its fur was still pristine,
showing it had passed only recently,
and I will shrug my shoulders,
though folks might curse me,
and ask what it is to anyone
that I have made light of its gravity,
because if I ever lie on the asphalt
in that beautiful motionlessness,
I would not beg for a euphemism
for what happened to me,
or well wishes that I rest in peace,
or the consolation of some heaven
I know nothing about,
which I don't think the feline
cared much about either.
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