No Cute Pets
The Roost

My forehead was almost clipped by the vulture's wing
as he wheeled around the house. What didn't I know?
Here's what.

Our cat died after a long feline life buried deep enough
we thought, but nothing stays buried in rain-soaked soil.

How we underestimate survival, all those complications
between birth and death, or what we'll do for food.

She was disinterred, a possum probably,
her corpse dragged into the moonlight
visible over my coffee cup at 1:00AM,
pale mound at the beginning of the woods,
a cloud of fireflies investigating.

By daybreak she was gone. Look up.
The vultures dried their wings and stuck around.

Copyright 2013, Linda Umans

Linda Umans enjoyed a long teaching career in the NYC public schools. She is a native of Manhattan where she lives, studies, writes. Recent publications include poems in qarrtsiluni, Theodate,, The Broome Street Review, and Switched-on Gutenberg.

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