For “Chicken” the Cat

For “Chicken” the Cat
(1987-2001)

April rain, a good day for digging,
The cat is just three hours dead,
And I still hear his white throat trilling
On the wings of white cranes overhead.

Sometimes, Chicken, the sky is falling –
It hangs with the weight of lead.
How long till I no longer sense you
Under every lump in the bed?

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About Ray Sharp

Poet, athlete, retired public health planner
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