belly to sky, paws bent like waving
you know nothing of goodbyes
just cold darkness once warm,
the affection factory’s gates chained.
this number is no longer in use
the Yellow Pages lines your tray
and your whiskers down the phone
are distant, disinterested.
you’ll get fed but fed up, bring
lifeless bodies to the door
that isn’t our door, anymore
paw garden paths on your own
thinking
but things were just getting good.