At seventy the cat was hit
As if a gassed-up, white-eyed god
Banged the world while scooting home,
Eclipsing half the cat, then vanished
Like a red-eyed, fuming devil
Down the concrete track. The cat
In spasms of amazement, licked
The crystal bubbles on its side
And dragged the back legs through the snow.
The front ones worked like skidding chains,
And the world was shrieking as it waved
Its head chaotically, and died.

Last Modified 1 July 2007
© David Lyttle 1959, 2007