Suburban Sonnet

Suburban Sonnet ( published in Stony Thursday Book 2009)


I never thought that I would find him

Cold and dead, stretched out in a stranger’s yard,

As if sleeping – but not sleeping – numb, hard

As the frozen ground, draped in a fine skim

Of winter’s leavings.  Only an old cat,

An insignificant death you might say –

Aristotle certainly saw it that way –

When compared to a human life lost; that

Is what vexes some people, that feline

Or canine can be treated like human,

Cried over like lovers, valued like someone

You lived with and loved throughout their decline.

The divine in me with apt insouciance

Digs a shallow grave and buries nuisance.


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