Hit, Run
       

The husk
of the orange tabby

seeps between the seams
of the earth a little each day,

a white picket
stuck down her throat to lob her

into the irrigation ditch,
stuck so deep it dislodged six half-circles

curled in her belly.
We keep vigil from our bicycles

as life scurries back into the cat,
ant by ant.

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Copyright © 2018 Dawn Manning All rights reserved
from Postcards From The Dead Letter Office
Burlesque Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission