the dead cat hissed like a monkey or a steam valve
loud and angry and heated
like every other argument about bad accounting practices
or the religion of snakes

the dead cat rolled over in the box, I think
to give Schröedinger the finger
to give a bad name to all the theoretical physicists
and the quantum mechanics with theoretical tools
and the string theorists named Bill who hardly exist at all.

the dead cat rotted away in a happy cloud
of methane and snot-like-something
your mother told you never to touch.

but just remember this,
you thought you didn’t hear them sing
a hiss is just a hiss
a sky is just a sky
as dead cats fly