A Severed Ear
One Saturday night, late, in my former life –
our recently adopted stray Afghan –
oh so elegant, how could anyone
be so unfeeling and abandon
such an aristocratic creature! –
asleep on our front door mat
objected when I carelessly
stepped on him in the dark.
All he bit off was a small piece
of one ear. I picked it up between
finger and thumb, placing it
gingerly on my other palm.
My wife drove me to hospital with
the piece in a clean handkerchief.
Bloodshed? - pain? – minimal.
But the wait at the hospital
while the Saturday drunks were seen to
was wearying. The cheery surgeon was –
reassuring. I asked him Please sew it on
closer to the head. My mother had failed
when I was small to get the tight caps
she made me wear train my flaps
to sit flat against my skull. He thought
it enough that he achieved a neat seam
and blood returned to the reattached piece.
The following week at work my bandaged ear
was a great joke. Vincent! I should have passed round
pink plasticine portions, or pet-shop pigs’ears.
Unveiling the mended ear was a great anticlimax.
Will you be having the Afghan put down?
Poor startled thing – better put down the master.
I felt put-down. Afghan and I became great friends.
We entered the village-fair competition –
dog and its look-alike human.
Lacking his elegant conformation
I let him down. We were also-rans.
Max Richards
Doncaster Vic
Wednesday 22 July 09
------------------------------------------------------------
This email was sent from Netspace Webmail: http://www.netspace.net.au
|