Two in three days.
Part of me cries even though
them to be animals, just animals.
Their shit stinks, they step
with cloven hooves
on my toes and are too stupid
to step off again.
But I find myself
unable to shake it off.
And I realize that they never loved me.
Never knew enough to love me,
my hands that brought them food
and dealt them death through ignorance.
The last days are the worst; how can they
not be? Forcing water down their throats
with a 12 cc syringe.
Hand-feeding them hay
and molasses water
to replace the blood sucked away
by tiny creatures I cannot see.
And I am so quick to deal out death
to these unseen
in favor of just another animal
but more charismatic
with dark brown fur and small horns
and eyes that seem empty
and a small, helpless body lying
lifeless in the grass.