This is a true confession.
Once I scoop out
the shriveled sausage links of poop
and ammoniacal clumps of urine
I enjoy raking
the litter box;
it's very meditative
like a zen garden.
First I rake one way,
then the other,
making a satisfying grid pattern.
I erase it and start over.
I do this several times,
my ego all but
closing its hypnotized eye.
I'm so nunlike
I could be a nun.
The cat sits
with her tail wrapped
tidily about her front paws
and watches
as cats do
pure objectivity
in a doorway.
I'm guessing this
is the first poem
about cleaning a cat box.
If there are others
there can't be very many more
and I can't believe
they're that much better or truer
than this one.
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