Lamb Saving
Lane silent and sunny
and me still
ringing from the hospital
where my father lay
dying - back to that house
I hated in those low, soft fields.
And passing a celebration's
flattened sign, i heard
sounds and through livid,
contrary cables
found half its life
flung wide,
the rest through wire -
Its body flying white -
the more it fought
the more it bled
and terrible to watch
death relax like that.
A simple thing - its heart
against mine as I worked
fingers into the steel
noose and strained
until we tensed together
and both sprung loose.
Heavy down, I watched
it over the distant hill
and my hands barely
healed when they began
to gather at that house
I hated in those low, soft fields.
GJ Hart currently lives and works in London and
has had work published in Isacoustic, Nine Muses Poetry, The Molotov Cocktail,
The Jersey Devil Press, The Harpoon Review and others. He can be found arguing
with himself over @gj_hart.
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