Job’s Cat

Job’s Cat

Job sits upon a pile of dung,
Cursing his conception.

Job’s cat sits on a windowsill
In mindless reflection.

Compassion’s mongrels lick Job’s sores.

The cat just licks his paws.

A bird, disturbed, takes wing and soars.
Job’s cat commits it’s path of flight to heart.

“Naked I came and naked I depart”,
Job says, with some distress.

The cat sits naked in the windowsill,
And does not hear Job’s prayer.

The cat resumes its stare
At emptiness.

Job has lost all but his cat.

The cat is nowhere.

(written 11:45am Tuesday, February 13, 2001)

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