The bitch was overdue. <br />No vet could be afforded <br />and the cries were growing, <br />ever louder, it was high time. <br />The oldest boy assumed, <br />with such an air of competence, <br />today's authority, he wiped away <br />the doubts of everyone, and lit <br />a cigarette that smelled so sweet, <br />then pulled out of his pocket a flask, <br />all shiny stainless steel, a mirror <br />perhaps of post-pubescent soul? <br /> <br />They all were guilty to the third degree. <br />And should have stopped him then, <br />before he killed them all, except the one. <br />But, no one had the guts to take the job <br />and not a single sound was heard <br />in protest of the bloodless slaughter. <br />His nicotine-stained fingers were, <br />that night, the forceps, used to maim <br />and kill, but not with kindness, no. <br /> <br />It was indifference that had befallen <br />and made its bed inside his mind, <br />he only had to lean into the down <br />to gather strength again and to go on <br />from deeds of misadventure to the awe <br />of being free to take your own sweet life <br />and hold it out to dry its melancholy tears, <br />and then, so near the end let go of it <br />and watch it flutter with uncertainty, <br />and with the grimace of despair, so brave <br />into its pre-ordained oblivion, after all. <br /> <br />The one survived and lived to see the day <br />when they took flowers to his marble stone, <br />if dogs could read we would now know <br />what all those golden letters said, <br />though there are times where, for us all <br />our lips must both stay stiff and also silent.<br /><br />Herbert Nehrlich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/those-puppies/
