a token
or two
scavenged from
the wild
gone feral
friday
night
two hours
pacing dark
tide creeping
beach bisected
by creeks
ribbons of
black ice
come
morning
a whole
frozen liver
at least one
kidney
on the
rug
saturday
sickday
deer fur
hide
signs
of what’s
to come
monday
i know
a leash could
prevent this
the hours
wondering
what will
be brought back
if he will
even come
back
lunacy
the wild one
nearly feral
for so long
he always
comes back
this time
with a four
point buck
its head
at least
frozen tongue
sticking out
of ice clenched jaw
the dog
i share the bed
with sometimes
gnawing
spinal column
pearls
ribbons
of nerve
and thawed
flesh
i put
the dog
inside
take up
the heavy
coal shovel
and with the
toe of my
boot, rock
the death
head into
the shovel’s flat blade
go to the garage
and dump
it in the bottom
of the trash
can
Jonas Lamb 