Tuesday, August 24, 2004

Old Stuff

I did a little rooting around on my Compaq tonight, and came across a few files that predate this computer by more than a decade.  I don't remember putting the files there.  In fact, one of them I don't remember writing at all.

Here is one that I do remember writing. Fair warning: it's a sad and rather graphic poem about the first dog I ever had. John was out of town when Jenny had to be put to sleep after a long illness.  (Don't worry: after this week's Auditing class I'll be back to writing new and happier stuff!)


The Burial:
19 June 1989

There was no moon out as I drove from the shop;
My car was revived but my dog was still dead,
Nevermore to be played with, or scolded, or fed,
Because car trouble's easier than cancer to stop.

There was no moon out when the ditch digger came;
It was barely past seven;  the sun had not set;
The moon, full last night, knew it wasn't time yet,
And it did not know Jenny, by breed or by name.

There was no moon out when I opened the door,
And discovered her box had developed a stench
As it leaked foul dark fluids from her to the bench,
And down to collect in small pools on the floor.

There was no moon out as he dug her a hole,
Watched by the rabbits, gnatcatchers and me,
While hawks screamed, but only because they were free,
As he struck sparks from rocks with his long digging pole.

No moon shone as he dickered to cover her up;
I offered him twenty to lower her down
After carting the box; and I'd fill in the ground
Over the carrion that had been my pup.

There was no moon out, and it surely was late.
I turned the spade once; Handyman did the rest;
He knew I was alone, and not at my best;
Tears were gone, but the horror now would not abate.

When he was finished, the moon rose at last.
He carried the tools out and then drove away,
While I struggled to mop up the smell of decay
From a dog still alive just a day and a half past.

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