Howler

Anne Silver
From: Bare Root: a poet's journey with breast cancer. Terrapin Press, 2002
Last Modified: May 6, 2003

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Anger, I will leash you to a lamppost
and walk away.
When you how, I will look back,
nod with the rest of the pedestrians,
and say, "Shame on the owner of that mutt."
Out of guilt I'll likely take you back,
but feed you splintered chicken bones,
not the liver I used to warm
in the microwave.
I'll sprinkle glass on your kibble,
tug on your chain,
beat you for gnawing your skin
and tell you plain:
I didn't choose you,
do not want you.
Despise the day we met,
and I prefer the company of a cat.
Anger, if only we could stand each other.
But you chase my friends,
growl and bare your teeth.
I bare mine at you.
You will outlive me,
chew on my bones,
and when people think of me,
they'll say you were master of my soul
unless I impale you,
roast you on a spit.
So, sit! Stay!
The fire is ready, and I'm ablaze.


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