Death of the Wild

1992

Wanting to be 'over there'
was the only wish of one
lone creature, bounding
effortlessly across the black waste
with black screeches of desolation
so preeminent in the memories of 
all who came before.

Blinding roar.
Numbing light.
Deafening Impact.

Creature continued to run,
the adrenalin of the chase
still coursing through the crushed veins.

The mourner's wail of desolation
become a helper's cry of hope,
as the second mobile death
passed by without noticing,
and the creature jumped,
finally,
to 'over there.'

But the first death had not failed its job,
and the helper watched helplessly as the creature
jumped again and again,
trying, trying so hard to rid itself of death,
bucking the rider, bucking the confinement,
fighting for its will, fighting for its life.

The helper stopped, jumped out, ran towards the spasming creature,
its belly twitching, 
still wrestling with an unseen strongman, 
still running across the street.

'Please be ok,' screamed his thoughts,
'I'm almost there!'

One final leap and he stopped short of the lone black-and-white,
tongue lolling, body twitching.

"Hi Kitty," were the comforting words,
like a woman to her lover,
a man to his newborn baby.

He lightly caressed the neck,
felt nothing.
Wild.
Free.
Beautiful.
Dying.

He caressed the fur down the length of the body,
ignoring the wetness from some unseen source,
a simple gesture of compassion 
for a simple creature of beauty.

The eyes seemed to turn to him,
thanking him for trying,
and with one last twitch,
the tongue, the eyes, the body,
they all stopped.

The man stood up, look down at the blank eyes
as they stared empty back at him,
and whispered his goodbye,
'Oh no, it's dead.'

He looked to the street,
looked to the cat,
looked to his car,
and began to cry.

Even the wild beauty deserves to be mourned.