Oldish Poetry
We Both Bleed
- After Rod Kessler's "How to Touch a Bleeding Dog"
Beth's dog is bleeding my responsibility
His exposed bones chatter memories.
Red soup flows out of his mouth
Spilling the stickiness
Of his dead owner,
My wife.
I carry him to the car,
Dripping mass of duty,
And he settles without resistance.
He is now gravity's dog.
I take Beth's weight to the vet.
The bleeding baggage still feels
Alive in my mind,
Though these breaths are its last.
As I watch him finish
I remember how he never ran at all.
But I can see why he did today
As I picture myself once like him:
Darting out into the road,
Daring something to smash my pain.
But that breath is no more,
And the blood is out of sight.
I will forget the weight,
And soon the touch, too, will be gone.
