Oh Deadman, busy day
Trying to make the world pure!
Now some dusty moth is
Banging noiselessly
Against a closed window
Trying to reach the new moon.
It makes you cold
To watch it,
In the shivering dark,
While your wife and cat
Sleep soundlessly.
It irritates you enough
To end it’s life,
Then return to bed
Amongst the sleeping bodies.
The moon climbs high
At the window
And crosses like a searchlight
Along the floor.
You heart beats like a hammer
In a small court of judgements,
As you reach for the sleeping cat
And stroke it.