Sitting at your bedroom window,
I watch a black and white cat
pursue
a shrew
Across the car park,
the tiny shrew
scurries through fallen leaves
and into undergrowth,
free for a few precious moments
as you are free
when you first wake and forget
you are dying
Then the cat has you in its mouth again
and you know
this can only end badly
The cat is always there,
poking,
waiting for you to emerge,
not biting too hard yet
Death is a game
to the cat,
which has lives to spare
and more shrews
to pursue