The Death of Jinx

I came upon a carcass on the road one Morning.

It looked dark and gnarly from a distance.

Upon nearing it, I noticed a swarm of flies,
Hovering relentlessly over it.

It was a wretched black cat,

It had been a loathsome black cat,

Always was a damned spot,

In the broader scheme of things.

A harbinger of bad luck and terrible jinx.

A miserable creature,

A despicable nuisance,

An obnoxious sight for every being.

And now, here it lied, in the middle of the dusty road,

Its left paw stretched out, its little mouth open,

Twisted in pain, droopy wiry whiskers,

As if gasping for breath.

Nay, hoping for a helping hand,

Yearning for a little kindness,

From among the curious passersby.

But had received none.

None, whatsoever.

It had lived a life of obscurity.

It was a life of shame, of ridicule.

Like a shadow lurking behind the shady alleys,

It had lived its brief life.

Till that fateful moment,

When a speeding car had run it over.

The driver couldn’t pull over.

He couldn’t risk of letting that damned creature

Cross his path. It would be damnable.

Thus, the brute’s fate was sealed.

Nobody who saw its lifeless little body

Shed a tear,

Nobody that came across it,

Felt pity.

It was a good riddance.

The jinx was broken.

The roads would forever be safe.

There wouldn’t be any black shadow,

Springing across their path.

As I too crossed over that stiff, rancid corpse

And walking a few steps forward,

Turned back to give a cursory glance.

I saw some haggard mongrels reaching over it,

And smelling its black, broken shell.

Prodding it with their ever-sensitive noses,

As if making sure that their arch enemy,

Was gone this time for sure.