Cat

not a nice poem, I know

A spastic dance 

on tarmac

finishes the show,

              bits fall off,

torn rags of black hair,

a split bag from the butcher`s

with a head hanging out,

             a half;

we are peeky at insides,

thrill of a gutbucket.

Ding dong all down the well,

chalk red screeching on the blackboard,

fat cat folded ;

don`t look back.

Reviews

[Tina Kline]

Yes, red and violent and kinda sad.
But such is the way it goes sometimes.
A well crafted poem.