Monday, August 4, 2008

Death in the Pasture

Two in three days.
Part of me cries even though
I know
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.

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