My black dog grips
A lamb shank-bone
Between white-tufted paws.
With his back fangs,
Tongue dangling down
Narcotically, he gnaws.
He watches me
Without seeing,
His condensed feeling
In those working jaws.
With frightful cracks
And crunching, splintered
Shards he swallows
To my slight alarm,
And yet I watch him
With satisfaction.
Childless as I am,
Exiled from animal
And god, alone;
Belonging to no party,
Tribe or guild,
I envy him his bone.
stef
December 16, 2010 at 4:58 pmIf he’s looking at you while he eats the bone, it doesn’t take an animal behavioral psychologist to realize that he’s thinking about eating you. Maybe you better close the bedroom door when you sleep.
AS
December 16, 2010 at 5:52 pmStef, I think I’d prefer to hear about that from an actual animal behavioral psychologist. I planted myself in front of him to watch him while he ate. I should also add that I’m not actually “alone” as I imply in the last stanza; I have a most excellent wife. I was speaking metaphysically, using my immense powers of negative capability.
Kristofer
December 18, 2010 at 11:25 amThis is a pretty good poem, Anton. Are you joining us other six billion exiles anytime soon? Oh, I’m sorry, I’ll let you finish.