Friday, 7 April 2017
poetry 2017 / 048
Pale eye sockets filled with dirt
the wafer-thin bones lining a nasal cavity
still with a few scraps of worm-white flesh attached.
A lower jaw, detached.
No trace of ribs or legs, gone into the earth,
with fur and tail gone also.
This poor creature, dead six months,
a daughter's beloved pet
washed off with a hose.
Molars fall, though incisors still grip the jaws
though less greedy now.
My daughter doesn't want him back
this little silent muse.