Day 31, Sonnet for
a Serial Killer
You may have thought that you were safe but you are not.
I sit hourly at the window by his side
as his mouth twitches, eyes grow narrow and wide.
They sometimes kill who always stare and plot.
A bird’s span is short, a decade’s all you’ve got
and that’s generous, according to my guide —
unless, that is, we keep all the cats inside
which would give hundreds of millions a year a better shot.
You face a multitude of dangers we might solve:
cars, planes, pesticides, destruction of habitat.
It’s not answers but resolve we lack.
Ages past, the biggest threat was hood and glove,
then, as now, you live at the whimsy of the cat
and his taunt: Once you’re gone, you’re never coming back.
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