My dog, her name is Melba
Had 19 puppies
7 and 6 and 6. All
Of them survived until
I hit them in the head with a hammer
Which was hard
I did this in front of Melba
Who seemed bothered
A bit
And snarled once or twice
Then we went into the back yard
And I buried Melba’s puppies
In front of her
With great ceremony. When
She tried to lick her crotch
I slapped her on the butt
No, Melba, no
This is important, I said
After a time Melba grew to expect the killing of her pups
When she had her fourth litter
A strangely small one
Of two
She bit them in the heads
And carried them into the back yard
Where we had interred the other pups
And dug a hole and buried them
She sits now
At night
And howls
By their graves
To the stars
To the sky
And eats her kibble
In the house
A bit dazed, hungover
Melba has grown old now
And hobbles and wobbles
A tumor here
A tumor there
And she has dug a large hole
In the back yard
She looks at me when
I come to stand beside her
And looks at the graves
And the grave to be
And looks at me
And howls
At the stars
At the sky
2 comments:
Reminds me of a story about a loving Ruler who illustrates why all the villagers of the world should believe in His All-Powerful Merciful Fatheriness by sending his one and only beloved son to a distant village where the Ruler knows the son will be murdered. Of course, the villagers comply in the both senses--they murder the son and thenceforth believe with all their hearts and souls that the Ruler is composed of truly loving Fatheriness.
It made me cry, Tommy.
Post a Comment