I had a cat, whose name was carved in hell –
his eyes would scratch sharpest
when evil shone from the two huge black wells
that he’d force me to dip into and promise
him things – things only rarely written in blood –
those things always kept him calm.
I remember he wanted a bird once, and so I got him
one. It was a happy little thing.
I had a cat, he watched the happy bird –
not one word was heard between them
except laughter one evening as twilight
rubbed its nose against my window and shadows
as dark as death evaporated against the walls
just at the moment feathers floated gently
from the cat’s mouth and he was deftly
swallowed whole by the happy bird.