poetry by j matthew waters

the obituary

it’s late in the game
but I’m not taking myself out
look I say
that cat is almost nine years old
and he ain’t going anywhere
[except kitty heaven]
—but I have to admit
it’s high time for a screwgie
or a mickey or a riddle
a secret talisman perhaps
almost certain to buckle your knees
as if brushed by death himself

october two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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