11 February 2009

wolfgang carstons

Lapping Blood from a Small Hole

for my 11th birthday
my mother bought me
a bb gun
i went out back behind
our house
straight into the woods
looking for things
to shoot

firing bullets at trees,
flowers, rocks - inanimate
things without feelings
wanting something to kill
something that would squeal
when hit

a prairie dog
popped out of his hole
ran towards me
stopped & propped itself
upon it's back legs
staring right at me
i lined the shot up
squeezed the trigger
the steel ball entered
his belly
knocking him over
onto his side

he wasn't dead
his tiny heart
still pumping blood
through a broken maze
of veins
each revolution
a spurt of blood
a mini geyser
squeezed through
the small hole

he licked
each new spurt

this continued
for half an hour
me watching him
lap blood
from a small hole
in it's belly
both believing
that it would work
somehow conquer

almost 30 years later
the image
of that poor creature
lapping blood
from a small hole
sticks w/ me
as a perfect metaphor
for the daily routine

of true poets

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