The Mendicant Kitten; an Urban Tragedy

Fourth in a series of 3(.5), this was a personal poem turned bonus omake.

Wide eyes and twisted guts is where you find yourself,

(You had been walking home from somewhere that afternoon)

And you stared into the frigid oculars of the dead cat

Laid bare and exposed on the sidewalk, with flies picking at an array of

Dusty, meaty ropes.

Backing up a bit, you wonder why,

(Why you’re more curious than appalled)

And you tremble, you perish the thought.

What could have brought that creature so low

In the first place?

Even after leaving the scene, those blistered paws haunt you.

(But you don’t know if you believe in ghosts)

And you dream that night, you wake gasping,

Wheezing for breath in a horrific state;

You’re a shaking, sweating mess.

In your sleep, tossing and turning and clawing for sanity,

You saw the truck coming,

And you called her

“Mom.”