Jan 142011

by John Grey

It’s the biggest test of his love yet.

He must bury the tiny precious cat.

She supervises while he slams

a shovel into the tough New England soil.

He holds the shoe-box, make-shift coffin

containing the remains, while she says

a silent prayer.

To her, it’s sadness made rite.

For him, it’s the height of the ridiculous

and his prayers are a direct request of God:

keep the neighbors indoors,

away from any windows.

Safely ensconced in its hole,

she sprinkles a handful of dirt

on the box’s surfaces.

He completes the job,

then jabs a wooden cross into the earth

to mark forever the place

where affection overcame embarrassment,

worms devoured a kitty’s corpse.