Bus Poem-4b Poem by robert dickerson

Sad but clean cat turns cards three by three:
red queen on black king. Nine on ten.
The table is lame, the cream uneasy in the bowl.
Pupils dilate slowly in the evening light.
A wee fray of gnats rollics on the lawn.
Some stars are struck, little yellow aces.
The game is up, cat, up. Cat don't cry.
Somewhere cuckoos and clarinets coo.
What is that furtive tear in cat's eye?
Cat, let it go. Cat, snap out of it!