Cat with a Broken Jaw

The cat with the broken jaw slinks forward on its belly,
across the infield grass in blazing hot sun, a body of jelly.

It is far away from home, no hole to crawl in ahead.
The trees circle the moving scene. This body is lead.


Blood drips and cakes on white, clawless stretched paws.
A metal frame and rubber wheel is the hit and run cause. 

The jaw hangs on a hinge, wire needed for repair.
Tabby fur frayed, dirty, and dingy, a sight for despair.

Cat missing signs tacked to trees and taped to signposts streets away.
 A passerby watches in horror, eyes anguished, pure dismay

Here, on the grass, of a park, in the spring,
A poor helpless blue-eyed kitten of a thing.

There is no moan, no cry, as we lift it from the ground.
Silence is agony, we wait to hear a peep or a sound. 

The body grows heavy. The cat accepts a ride.
We move in a hurry, feet faster each stride.


The wheels never stopped to see or help the hurt cat.
The time-clocking cyclist never once thought of that.

The cat with the broken jaw is carried away, by my hands.
It purrs in my lap, now, in a waiting room for other lands.