Bunny Goodjohn
Bunny Goodjohn is published in both poetry and prose. Her poetry has appeared in a number of literary journals including Press 53, The Texas Review, One Art Poetry, Kestrel and The Cortland Review. Her poetry collection Bone Song (Briery Creek Press) was published in 2015. She has published two novels: The Beginning Things (Underground Voices) and Sticklebacks and Snow Globes (Permanent Press). www.bunnygoodjohn.com
TWO GOOD WOMEN
How quickly things changed that day.
The cat, one moment engrossed in grass,
the next turning broken somersaults
on the asphalt, the casualty of some driver’s
inattention; and me, heading to the store,
fretting about tariffs and the stock market,
how I can never clear my left nostril, all erased
by this cat’s frantic spinning in the road.
A car stops on the median, and in the time
it takes me to park, a woman is carrying
the tomcat to the trees. She’s professional,
checking for a pulse, fingers at his throat.
He is long and grey, back legs twitching,
his mouth a mess of too many teeth,
his head a collapsed cake of blood.
“I’ve got a gun in the car,” she says.
Under my palm, the cat’s shoulder is warm,
and I cannot help but think how, on any other day,
he would so object to my invasion
of his wild space. By the time she’s back,
he’s dead and all afternoon, I am detoured
by the knowledge death will come for me.
Not hit in the head by a Ford Maverick, but likely
a slow death, captive in some nursing home,
an inane tv show buzzing in the background.
I’m praying the bored and jaded nurses
will have driven on and left just two good women
behind: one with her warm, wide hand on my shoulder,
her voice low, words unintelligible but kind;
the other heading to her car, gone to get her pistol.
