Death is a game

Sitting at your bedroom window,
I watch a black and white cat
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,
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