Tuesday, July 31, 2012

The Cat Who Died

That cat that died
smelled from a
long-endured ear cyst
like old sweat. He
pooped the rug so we
mourned conflict-ridden mourning.

When we buried him
we couldn't say a prayer.
He died among a foreign people.
His god would not hear the prayers
of aliens. We lived side-by-side but
apart. He had his god we have ours.


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