Rabies, Bite Two
The second time, at five,
it was a cat.
I have no memory of this—
not like the dog,
which put the fear of God
of dogs in me
for years to come. I know
my Uncle C. J.
scoured the fields and barns
for days for fur
for carcass when nothing
could be found.
So, another round of shots
in the belly,
of screams and diehard tows
to the car,
of being held down on the steel
table like a soul
who saw no light at the end
of the tunnel,
who could not shake flesh
loose and be free
of all the teeth and needles
that pierced him
with unnameable, unwanted
vengeance and mercy
through and through.
Rabies, Bite Two
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