The Cat's Remorse

I woke up with a fat sparrow in my head
either laying or playing dead
a fledgling feline poking the limp lump
in gentle but vain attempts
at coaxing his winged friend
to move flaps and rise again.

Sunrise pangs satiated by milk and tuna
served inside warm walls of white,
dried insides parched by another kind of thirst
- one as big as a water tank -
and cocked legs loaded for bursts across the dew-adorned grass
beaded by new arriving light,
before a final kiss of Earth and a gambler's grab
of idle April air;
such are the impossible plans
of the paroled pussycat pondering
against insurmountable odds
and an even greater genetic debt.

“Teacher Teacher lying there … get up!
I'm here to learn the passages
to the tall ornithic heights.
Teacher Teacher … take me there!
Teacher, Teacher, don't you care?”
meowed the spring kitten,
its sorrowful moans
now bigger than its morning bite.