I leave the crumpled receipt on the floor.
Something the cats drug up
From out of the waste paper basket,
I can't bring myself to throw it away again.
Maybe I leave it because the cats like it
And have made a toy out of it.
Maybe I identify with it.

Maybe I hope that when I wash up
On some strange shore in the afterlife,
That even some stranger cat might find me interesting
Or useful,
Pick me out of the trash,
And when it's done with me,
And I'm lying there forsook,
That maybe the Great Janitor of the cosmos
Will just let me be
And give this two-time loser
A third second chance.

-jenn