A Sheep's Tale
by Linda Fuller
The roots of Spunky’s horns are hot
with blood, and his edible brains
toss his head and roll his alien eyes
and kick up his heels in high gambol.
He doesn’t remember tumbling wet
and sticky from his mother or his testicles,
rubber-banded and robbed of their blood
supply, dropping from his body.
He doesn’t remember two weeks old,
sucking Gator Ade from a baby bottle,
standing splay-legged under Flo the Giant
Schnauzer now recognized as mother.
He doesn’t remember the last meal he ate,
and when the gnashed grain comes up
as cud, his lips sputter and semi-sweet
Hersheys morsels rain from his anus.
Author's Note: R.I.P. Spunky
Posted on 06/12/2010
Copyright © 2020 Linda Fuller
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Glenn Currier on 06/13/10 at 04:28 AM|
Oooooo... tough pome! Poor guy. Images are stark and effective... plunged me into an edgy feeling and feelings of regret. Well done, Linda.
|Posted by George Hoerner on 07/11/10 at 08:02 PM|
I suspect there are many of us castrated one way or another that would rather not remember it as well as other things in our history. Good write lady.
|Posted by Marcus Lane on 07/27/10 at 07:26 AM|
My God, now there there are are some unpleasant images that stick. Good writing.
|Posted by Tim J Bono on 09/17/10 at 07:04 AM|
wow - you capture the agony and horror of it all well Linda.
|Posted by E. A. Pugh on 05/11/11 at 10:44 PM|
Too funny, I love the whole life cycle you present and the ending is a blast!