Little Elegy

apologies to Donald Justice

Weep, all you women
who prize good looks and fur:
Teira the cat is dead.

A woman much like you
kept her for seven years
close as a little sister.

She suckled where she pleased,
kneaded dough from breast to breast,
and fed, sometimes, licking the lips.

Oh, lucky cat. But time
plucks from the lap
even the softest, the most favored.

Red are the eyes of her mistress now.
On us, her remaining admirers,
they will not focus.

— for Teira, 2008-2015


(this is a ripoff of Little Elegy, by Donald Justice … do read his poem)


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