Black Cat Poem by M. A Heathcote

I killed a dying cat as it attacked me.
And bit me to the bone and broke three of its claws off on my arm.
For showing it back out of the window of my home
I threw a child's red Wellington boot at it across the floor.
It took clean off its open jaw its bloody maw.
I killed a dying cat after a dreadful act.
I should have then made a pact not to tell anyone.
But I couldn't hold my tongue, and this
It has been my problem ever since I was born.
No, I can't hold my tongue; it's like a flapping sail in the wind
That isn't tied down.
Like when I told my papa my mom was making out
Behind a garage door with the neighbour's son half her age next door.
Guess what: I never saw him again, anymore.
Black cats are the emblems of bad luck for me.
But I've got no one else to blame; I guess I've just got
A bad soul that doesn't like to conform to lies
Guess I've now just got to die all alone.
Because I've been disowned by all who I know.
My mother laughs and says he isn't your father, anyhow
And he confirms it when he's taking his last dying breath
You aren't my kid, we aren't kin or kith
You are just a son of a bitch
Everyone hates animal cruelty, but it's fine for a vet
To take one's well-loved pet to that place of eternal rest
It's fine for the butcher to fill your larder with venison.
And throw a few extra sausages in, because you're custom
It is welcome again. And your ignorance will never go broke.
I killed a dying cat, and it attacks me still.
And lords know I think it's vendetta will kill me one day.
I'll trip on its tail maybe when I'm ninety-four.
Lord knows, isn't that what black cats are for?
Secured to a blackbird's wing and blood on their maw.
And the sound of my mom behind a garage door
With the neighbour's son next door, half her age.
Guess I will not be back here anymore, so why should I lie?
Black cats are the emblems of bad luck for me.
Cat bells, are they the bells of hell, not heaven, am I right or wrong?
Black cats are the emblems of bad luck for me.
Won't someone sing a song for me where this black cat lives, and change my fate to be? And sets me free of its claws, its maw.
Where a child's red Wellington boot isn't thrown across the floor.
And hasn't taken clean off its open jaw.
And swallowed me up in sin and sorrow forevermore.
Listening to the shuffling that's going on behind a garage door.