The Discarded Bag

by joetwo

Walking home on evening
A car drives by
There is a thud
Followed by the sound of scraping
Some heavy meeting the tarmac
Stopping in an instant of violent friction
Then at rest
It is a large sportsbag
The car itself speeds on
The night haze preventing any further indentification
Apart from “It was a dark colour”
The bag remains
I stare at it for a second
Reluctant to approach
My thoughts filled with the uncertainty of the age
Images of terrorists, criminals, filled my imagination
No good can come of it I am certain
Then it moves
Slowly at first
And then more vigorously
As if groggy from waking up
Bombs don’t move that way
I move closer
I hear faint mewling
I slowly, reluctantly, undo the zipper
And am greated by a face
A kitten
Barely alive, it is so young
And its siblings, all five of them
Crying in pain
Crying for their mother
Crying for help

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