another poem about the winter rain by John Grochalski

my poor cat
she keeps getting worse
the tumor pressing her left eye
causing a lump to the side of her nose
the eye is red
and there is a constant stream
of leaky discharge
you can see the soft, milky flesh
where the fur once was
we take her to the vet and he shrugs
because the end is inevitable
maybe it’s benign, he says
but we’d have to do a biopsy for that
put the old girl under
take another chunk out of her
or we could try steroids
but there are side effects
good christ, she’s a twelve year old cat
i think
it’s better to let her go home and die
with some dignity
but to look at her
is to stare down mortality
the doc says that she’s not in any pain
but last night she stayed away from everyone
i caught her batting at the eye
and we went to sleep to the sound of her
sneezing torrents in the living room
this morning it’s still january
in the early part of the twenty-first century
and outside the skies are heavy with what
used to be snow
from where i sit the music is soothing
i can hear the sound
of the cat eating her food in the dark hallway
a small joy in the few that we have left together
as i linger here
a fake white page staring back at me
from the computer screen
waiting for inspiration to strike my fancy
or for me to write another poem about the winter rain.

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