I bathed a kitten in the bathroom sink,
released the drain and watched the water flow –
along with kitten legs. I didn’t think
that hole would pose a threat. I didn’t know
what else to do – I pulled the drain again,
but of the kitten’s body saw no trace.
I watched the suck with horror. I was ten.
The disk of drain became the kitten’s face.

At nearly fifty years of age I write
that nightmare for a story. Now I see
the obvious, as corny as a light
above a cartoon head. The cat could be
no one but me, about to subdivide
myself, or else no sex could be implied.