holds the bloated baby goat.
Tongue licks death. He bawls
recalling neck and I cannot stop this.
Evident Baby is sick beyond kilter,
straw sticks to his teeth. Yet I
still pretend to call the vet
and help support Baby's neck.

Sissy looks at me and blue eyes
balloon behind saline. Life whiffs
in her hands while the phone rants
off hook in empty caress.
She drops to her knees opening
sticky shriveled lips. Breathes
into him as hard as she can.
His lungs explode with love

and death passes through them.

Arsenic Lobster #6, (Spring 2004)