Tuesday, November 27, 2007


-for that cat squashed to pulp infront of La Salle,

and the cat I met last night.

he might have crossed without looking

or his nimble little feet slipped

from the island just as the light turned green

he might have spotted another alley cat

staring with the hots of a Friday evening
he might have been challenged

to test his catty prowess---that swiftness

that sharpens the keen kitty alertness

after months, perhaps even years

of street loneliness

he might have thought of adventures

daddy cat would have warned him

or he might have realized

that nine lives just too much for a lifetime

mommy cat wouldn't have recognized him

nor those who've got the sharp little eyes

for his streamlined leanness

he's just another mat of white fur carpet

soiled at the edges with the grime of wheels

stiff at the seams where the stitches of life gave in---

faceless the bones

which have shaped his feline days

lie scattered
flattened into rags

like tattered snippets of guilt

the rush hour have transformed

into dry absorbers of the day's


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