Schrodinger's Cat | Poetry | Hudson Valley | Chronogram Magazine

The die is cast, the palm is greased:

He oddly lives yet is deceased.

At hour's end you'll know his fate:

Wield the pry-bar; open crate.

The cat's alive! You sigh relief.

The cat is dead! You pour out grief.

Yet prior to that (it's hard to square)

The cat both lives and dies in there.

Uncertainty? It seems extraneous

To be and not be simultaneous!

The cat himself is not aware

That he both lives and dies in there.

You want to use your moral clout

To help the fated feline out

But prayer is vain, considering that

God cannot help Schrödinger's Cat.

Yet we whose fates are noncontiguous

(Not dichotomous, ambiguous)

Can pray to Him to help us choose

The gun or rope or pills or booze

Or bridge or train or jagged knife

Or bed-bound, ebbing senile life.

Whether or not we have this choice,

We like to think God hears our voice

(Surely there are certain guidelines!)

But He diddles on the sidelines,

An all-important caveat

Both for us and Schrödinger's Cat.

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