Lenten Sonnet #29

Stages in the Development of Conscience

Dear child whom I’ve just caught peeling new paint

From the gleaming picket on the second stair,

Why seems an obvious question. For answer you stare

Back through the railings with the flat, impenitent

Gaze of a cat which has shredded the damask chair

On which it lounges in splendor while some human

Caterwauls incomprehensibly above its

Oblivious head. Now, really, I like cats,

But if we want a species with moral acumen –

Oh, never mind. Forget my asking why.

White paint drifts down like snow onto the floor.

You fix me with your blankly feline eye.

Paint’s cheap. The day's half-spent already. I

Can’t think why why would matter any more.