I picked up a squirrel lying in the road.
I pitied him, thought him a poor fellow
And deserving of enough dignity
To be spared being crushed by tyres in the sun.
I thought about other daily slaughters:
How many snails had been crushed beneath the
Pounding genocide of my careless steps
On cold, starless, rainy nights. How many
Bombs have fallen? I once killed a lamb with
Hands that petted him before his slaughter.
They say Jesus praised a rotting carcass
For its white teeth; others thought it ugly.
My poor fellow’s eye dangled on his cheek
But his silver fur was soft and lovely.

Featured on Beanery Writers.

This entry was posted in Sonnets.

One comment on “Jesus

  1. misty says:

    this is too sad…. =(

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