Janis on the jukebox,
Typing my memoirs
With my thumb on an iPhone.

A draft in front of me
The bulk of my footprints
On this earth behind me.

A week with momma in her death room,
We had done similar a few years earlier
When putting her old cat to sleep.

He had gone to sleep and stuck his tongue out
A final gesture for us, how dare we extinguish
His light.

I’m pleased mom had no such compunction.