Wide–eyed Fur among the Roses
A spoiled westerner decided he
Would have a restaurant meal delivered to
His home, a spicy Indian one with ghee
Or maybe just a pizza baked with goo
All over it. A speeding senseless van
Ate up the street and killed my Bene, smashed
His neck and back. At least the decent man
Picked up his mobile phone and called. He crashed
My heart as gently as he could. I went
To find the year-old kitten laid beside
The road, his eyes wide open but life spent
For middle-class convenience. Death is wide,
But narrow, just enough for shoe box space
To hold him in a hole, our garden space.
~ Phillip Whidden
