The Cat Kills

After years of watching you fail to stalk
Tail too high, excitement in your throat too loud
Paws that clodhopped through grass in tepid pursuit
of those sarcastic slow-clap wings…

Now this! Blood all over the kitchen floor
scattered feathers, the pathetic loose-necked corpse.
And for it to be now that you have lost all of your teeth;
You must have pin-cushioned it to death with your paws.

Will you become vicious in your old age then?
Should I be stockpiling the necessaries for lolly-stick crosses?
I remember another cat, her collar a garland of tiny skulls,
all the mouse-skin cloaks she laid down for unwary feet.

Excavating pink from your claws hours later.
You pause, then leap up again, circling. Come-come, you call.
I keep finding you puzzled in the bleach-sopped kitchen,
having forgotten what you came in for.