This little tale came from the legend that if a black cat walks across a grave during a full moon, the dead person will rise. Hope you enjoy. Pic by winterwillow89-photobucket
It has not been easy
you know….the wait.
We’d all been there too many times.
Waiting for the full moon…
waiting for the black cat…
Then it happened.
Barnabey, over there, plot 182
on that full moon in October
caught himself a black kitty,
that traipsed right across his goddamned
Barnabey hardly knew what to do.
Suddenly his arms worked
and his face muscles (well, what was left of them)
and he took a breath, he sneezed,
all that fifty year dust.
We all sent him messages, “GET UP!”
He rolled over, which wasn’t easy in a coffin,
but Barnabey was a skinny guy,
and he pushed up with his back
and his skinny ass
busting through the rotted wood, and
the worm-worked soil.
It was a quite fresh and pleasant.
Scared the shit out of the cat!
“Now what?” he said.
God, he was so stupid.
Then the cat ran, ran, over more graves.
A regular celebration. Many re-births, many awakenings.
What a sight it was. Not for the faint of heart.
Mine was missed, yet again,
yet I was the loudest.
All the others got to rise up…
some dead only a year or two,
like that screwball drunk who killed
three people last year with his car…
he got up…he dug himself out.
Not me, dead for a century….waiting
for the precise conditions…
The moonlight still glowed.
“What do we do?” they were all saying, stupid idiots.
“What do we do?”
“Go get that fucking cat for me!” I kept screaming.
Then I waited…