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A sonnet

Last Exit

An audience of stalled cars scans the scene:
a cat, inspired by collision to dance a jig,
is showered in applause of pigeons’ wings
as coils of blood unwind in cords that jerk
his puppet limbs—he writhes and up
into the air propels his splintered frame
then shivers in mid-flight and drops,
is reeled into the sky again.
The drivers, blind to deft performance,
blare their horns and rev and wait
while passenger children look askance
at gulls alighting near the cat
now spent on a garden walkway. Quiet please.
A rose bush drones with eulogizing bees.

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