John Lynch
Burying the Cat
Getting into the swing of things
she threw herself on the lawn
shouting Bury me, bury me
just as Hughie wedged awkwardly
halfway down the hole
having stiffened overnight
on the tumble-dryer
into a flat-out-in-front-of-the-fire shape.
Playing along, I fished her up
by the ankles and dangled her in;
imagined her nostrils, lungs,
filling with cold dank air
till I hauled her out;
checking the gate
before sending her
scampering down the garden path.
Page(s) 28
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