Mount Pleasant


1. Mount Pleasant

In the yard of Mount Pleasant

seventy two sick bodies

laid twitching,

all in a mountain

of still warm flesh

their dreaming legs

still kicking.

A bed of Yorkshire stone

caged by iron gates,

the copper smell was so prevalent,

up and above

the odour of bowels  

and bladders all releasing.

Not one was spared,  

not even the young.

“Four in a bag

if they're little.”,

The vet and his needle  

from cradle to cradle  

robbing their lives  

and their freedom.

“Wont any survive?

Can't they get better?”  

“It's better this way,  

just leave them.”

the sun in the sky's  

abyss of blue couldn't do anything  

to save them.  

That Summer night  

no barking to hear  

as I laid in my bed  

and wondered –

“Where did they go,

and do they still howl?  

Do they dance the dog waltz

all through the clouds,  

or did the incinerator

simply burn them?”

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