III. Convo
where six typically pot-luck ladies
ooh and aah over
various bits of viscera
I, a three-year-old, grow
fast best friends with formalding –
scent of dead – there I lay –
I see me now – upon formica –
suspended dead one
suspended on
dead steel
and pinned
with little metal pins.
My brother's twenty-pound cat
passes and his
wife asked for cremation
so there sits
in the midst of a roomful of Xbox controllers
wine bottles
acoustic guitars
on top of the shelves that hold the current tech for owning films
And half-finished classic literature
a cedar chest full of
Big John's Ashes
a picture of them holding him
-- all together now, he's heavy, lift together –
his collar on top
an expired rabies tag attached by a bendable grip
hook
I was made to dissect a fetus
of a pig in public school.
formaldehyde
smell it?
black permanent marker
cat
II. Meal
(No thanks, I'm off of bacon for the month. Why? I heard the pig's anatomically closest to me, to man. That kosher with you?)