No one ached when I died
On a dusty August morning in the swelter of the sun
They buried me in blue jeans and my coffin had a crack
A chip along the edges matched the blood along the tracks

Family preceded me; there was no one left to cry
But a single solemn woman, hidden in the back
Shed a single shiny tear; and only one to be exact

No waterfalls or bowing heads, no crowd to see me go
No burning candle vigils and no midnight serenade
I marched the gates of life and death, alone but unafraid

No one ached when I died
No questions or suspicions from the folks around the town
There were no weeping faces or a grand old death parade
Just a digger and a preacher; lowered slowly in the grave

We're like a big tuna casserole
That's been remicrowaved
One too many times.

Curiosity perhaps killed many a cat
For a cat it is an inquisitive brat

It could rummage through anything even your ******* trash
Tabby may spring on dinner table and cutlery may crash

Famous might be a cat for those famed nine lives
but not much help is that if in every danger it dives!

Its feline curiosity to crash-land it in trouble
for it tends to explore every kind of rubble.

The catty **** likes a fight and a wild-goose-chase.
Forever looking forward to amuse and amaze?

In a cat basket he's likely to be struck with ennui
Perhaps his caretaker thought only of his fengshui?

His meowing and hissing resonates in the valley
as he tussles with many rival cats in the alley

Mr. Tom cat thinks most females are saucy
but with them he acts in a way quite bossy

Wild and rough, with macho feral pride
I watch you tease and taunt in your typical stride.

No way is he kitty soft paws
Mr. Tomcat sure has the sharpest claws.

Tomcat ate the fishy leftover pudding & fish pie
and kissed the feline females and made them cry.

But my fav is my own cutie darling so soft
even if she may raid the larder and loft that's aloft .

©

In some sense,
we’re all proportionately configured
if we will grow,
to be with adjustment’s ideation

solidity is not a beautiful thing
when mixed with fearful rigidity
a hex is really just a RUDE blessing

    Till we strut, shan’t we be living
Please Pass the pickled Beets