Sunday, 23 March 2014

9th March 2011


Old paint containers in the front porch,
Covered with rags,
Upon which you used to curl up and sleep
Serve as memorials to you,
O Pussycat Departed.

The paint contained within had a strong, foul odor,
The last time I checked,
And it's about time they were discarded.

But somehow, if I look long and hard enough,
I still see you there,
All curled up and fast asleep.

So, tell me,
How am I gonna accomplish something like that
When, apart from some photographs,
Those old paint containers in the front porch,
Covered with rags,
Upon which you used to curl up and sleep,
Were all I had left of you?


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