Good for the Cat

Of all the things that can kill you
In this world, you know one of them

Is bound to get the job done, but
Oh how you sweat which one. The news,

The talk of the town, chat at work,
Stats you’ve read, the new plague, new wars,

Old age, the slow loss of your mind,
Your lungs, your skin, your guts, a gun

To the head, your own gun, young punks,
Rough cops, bad falls, just sick to death.

It’s no fun. You get out of bed
And the moon is like snow on snow

On the lawn, and a few stars light
Pins through the moon’s glow, and it’s cold,

And you can breathe damp and taste frost,
And a black cat sprints through the dark.