Anole on the driveway
Only part of you remains
And that part
No longer even twitches
As the cat takes bites
Of the flesh that was so lovely
When you were still alive and moving.
I cannot fault the cat for this
. . .
She was only doing
What her kind was born for
Many million years ago
And without which or its like
Your own kind, more than likely,
Would have overpopulated Earth.
But my kind
In its foolishness or wisdom
Laments your loss, your pain,
And the vacancy you’ve left
In our own lives
By losing yours.
And all I think to do
To make amends
Is write this poem.
©2022 John I. Blair, 7/5/2022
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