inquisition

meow?
a question!

i'm jolted out of
my contemplation
of all things
trivial
and
sublime

what is it, baby?

the cream- colored face pops
up
over the rim
of the tub

rwoar?

sharp fangs gleam
their question
eye slits transformed

into
dark pools

clicks of my tongue
invite the lithe body to
jump up
and strut

lick
paw
nuzzle

the questions continue

answered by more
questions

until
nothing is
left to be
said

with no answers
the figure smoothly
exits

stage right

leaving behind only
a few stray hairs

like we all do

eventually

special

the bath
is a real steamer
tonight

sweat rolling
and beading
filling my fingers
with moist ruin

the cheap pulp
warps and
wrinkles and
stains

the eyes burn as
the heart forgets
a beat
now and again

moisture claws
every surface
as
ancient instruments
fart and wheeze
in time

with

the growls and
gurgling of
my traitorous
gut

no one
will care what
i write
100 years
from now

so why do it?

why is there
a last meal on death row?
why is there
chemotherapy and radiation?
why are there
confessionals?

everyone wants to
believe
that they'll be
different

that they're
special

they're not wrong
they are
special
unique
precious
to at least one other
living thing

but being special
doesn't mean
that
you get to miss out
on all the
shit life
brings

especially
at
the end