Managing
Managing
The copers manage the damaged –
by hand, deftly;
coping and hoping it won’t rain,
not today anyway,
me cat’s being buried today he is:
got squashed by a car.
We pried him loose from the wheel arch
with a pointy stick. His eye fell out,
a black hole, a purpled star, like it was cauterized.
I cried when my cat died.
I did.
Ivor Griffiths 2007
Blog Poet UK
January 21st, 2008 at 2:42 pm
Nice poem. Sorry about your cat!!
June 14th, 2010 at 12:48 pm
The unlikely connection between manager-copers and the death of a pet, in all its gory detail, works for me. Ditto the flat, restrained conclusion, which could easily have been hysterical, fever-pitch.
If you care to, try the dead dogs poem at slate.com, December 4, 2007. On some days, I know that author fairly well.
December 5th, 2010 at 7:44 pm
awww! your work’s great!