when the pet
rabbit passes, she ponders
a shoe box,
a nice spot
in the yard, near the trees
on the other side
of the fence,
a deep place
in the soft dirt where the dogs
can't get to it.
play funeral for awhile,
but no, she folds a paper
around it's limp body
and quietly goes out
to where the cans
sit, waiting for the truck.
the child is crying.
calling out
the pet's name, asking
why it won't wake up.
why is he still sleeping?
what is there to say,
but lie, for now
say yes, he's sleeping,
he's in a better place,
but we'll get another,
then another,
until you've had your fill.
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