maxim

Was it playing when
curiosity killed the cat?
I must know. How
and why? Was it,

perhaps, the cat was

black, bad luck? Licking

old age? Was it

preying? Dying to know

where cat ghosts go

once they die life

number 9? Ate seven

mice and paid? Dearly

beloved we are gathered

here today to remember

the cat. Was it

crossing the road to

get to the other

side? Did it cross

a chicken on its

way out? Inside? Down

under? Where was it

when curiosity killed it?

I wonder soemtimes. And

I get caught up

in the wrapping and

forget about the present.

I wonder. Was it

out of its mind?

In good company? Maybe

over the hill? Beyond

the mountain seeing what

it could see? But

all that it could

see was the other

side of the...what?

What did it see?

A sea shell? A

sea shore? Did it

drown at sea? Swallow

its pride? For whom?

Did it give a

damn? Did it give

two? Have a heart

attack when curiosity struck?

Did it finish its

supper, the last meal?

Was it dead meat?

Did it regret being

at the wrong place

at the wrong time?

Or was it right?

Was time like it

is now? Was it

alone? Starving for attention?

Or did it love

the spotlight? Was it

ruthless, maybe a glutton

for punishment? Was it

a pet? With a name?

Like mine? Was it

already one foot in

the grave? Was it

arching its back? Breaking

dawn with yellow eyes?

I wonder, was it

the cat who wondered,

in so much wondering,

was it worth it?