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Last Playground
In the yard, two mounds.
Two cats in the ground,
First fell deadly ill,
Last curiosity killed.
The latter I buried,
For which I carried
The burden of murder,
Let me tell you further.
‘Twas a night of confusion
Of rush and illusion.
If cats have lives of many,
It is I who took plenty.
In an effort to be clean,
The clothes ran to the machine.
Spin cycle, rinse,
Buzzing finish.
To be dry they wished,
So then I fished
From washer to dryer,
Never seeing the funeral pyre.
How hasty was I,
To the clothes I comply,
Not noticing the cat
In the dryer it sat.
Playing without care
Between shirts and underwear,
Maybe even taking a nap
Inside this deathtrap.
The dial is turned,
The cat unlearned
Of his soon to be found
Last Playground.
Sorrowful was I
For I did cry:
"Fate is inevitable,
How ever regrettable."
-Tom
Aycock
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