Tuesday, October 13, 2015


By Thomas Cole

I look down to see 

If there is any breathing 

In the dead orange cat 

On the road. 

I look at empty sockets 

Of eyes and imagine 

How they once saw the ground 

Skippity-hop dance 

Across the grass.

The tender furry body 

Of the dead orange cat 

Was killed by

One auto 

Of us all.


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