Just to taunt my dread and doom
the cat did everything
she did this morning
the same way she always does.

She tore things up.
She knocked things over
and walked my chest
until I was awake

and got out of
my torture bed
with the same back pain
as yesterday,

my feet on fire
with the same nerve pain
as yesterday. In the bathroom
I learned

that somehow I’d lost
three pounds in the last week
and my glucose reading
was near normal,

two points lower
than yesterday.
Overall my body
seemed better than it did

a few months ago —
but no time to cheer as the cat
twined and threaded through my legs,
softly biting my ankles as always,

until her dish was full so
she could, as always, ignore it
more effectively. She jumped
from the floor to the window seat

to see what was outside:
birds, of course;
my neighbor Irving
banging around inside his car

before work;
gray skies, no rain,
last of last week’s snow
disappearing.

Just to taunt me, just to taunt me
and my haughty opinions and full-on
fear, the small things of the world
insisted on their importance: Coco

worked her diva magic, Irving
got on with what needed doing,
and my body reminded me
of its primacy

as it pulled back a little,
for now at least,
on its relentless march
to the End. So

I’m not going to say
we’re going to be
alright,
because we’re not.

I am going to say
that someday
it may happen that
it’s all going to be alright.