Rover’s Poem, 1971

Everything dies.

Even grey-striped alley cats.

Even ditsy, falling, slipping, sliding,

cross-eyed, eyowing, cuddle cats.

Even a scrawny flea-ridden kitten

who survived cat fever twice

and countless other catastrophes,

such as falling off fences,

and laps,

for five subsequent years,

but who, alas, developed a taste

for poisoned gophers.

Rover’s gone underground now.

You should have been immortal, you idiot cat.

You should have been immortal.

Published in: on June 18, 2008 at 2:47 pm  Comments (1)  
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One CommentLeave a comment

  1. Goddamn cats! We do love them so.
    Every last one of them.


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