at the turkey in the back yard.
fat and full of
feathers.
i never should have named
him.
we've become close friends,
as close
as poultry and human beings
can come to be.
Barnaby.
that was a mistake.
i can't kill him now.
i can't bear
to see the look in his
beady black
eyes when i put his
neck to the stump,
axe in the air.
he trusted me.
maybe ham, this year.
come here little piggy.
No comments:
Post a Comment