Take-Out

Cat

“I want,”

He said,

“When I

Am dead

To be most neatly kept.

My eyes

Just closed,

My frame

Relaxed

Just as if I slept.”

“All rot

Must cease.

I’ll pay the fees.”

He cried, like King Canute.

“For I must freeze

At two degrees

Cryogenic absolute!”

So, sure enough

His friends

Did stuff

Him in a vacuum bottle.

Stiff and blue

Was their last view,

With a cork stuck in his glottal.

The Sun

Did burn,

The Earth

Did turn

Two hundred million spins,

While time

Did pass,

Beneath the grass

Where our frozen friend still grins.

As species must,

Mankind was dust,

But mind must have a site.

So, dogs and cats

In hats and spats

became somewhat more bright.

A feline digger

Couldn’t figure

The frozen sarcophagus.

“What is this thing

Some ancient king

Sent through time to plague us?”

He did pop

The thermos top

And slid out frozen friend.

The flesh

Still fresh,

Turquoise skin

Like a djinn.

This could cat comprehend.

So, wrapped in foil

And fried in oil

Our friend turned crispy brown.

With vintage wine

The taste was fine

When feline gulped him down.

But doubt still gripped

This cryptic crypt.

The cat had not a hunch

Why mankind

Had so inclined

To send him a boxed lunch.

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