Please Don’t Tell the Hospital it Was the Dog; They’ll Put Him to Sleep

Calves plump like a shoulder roast,
adrenaline thumping in a wolfish room
Have you ever seen a fibula
picked clean of its fat flesh and prickled skin
Teeth tore so cleanly
Teeth worn so manly
-forks in a famine

And mother howls more over the fate of the fangs
than the wound

 

Featured on the Dying Dahlia Review

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