Bones and Claws (poem)

Bones and Claws

“To the living we owe some consideration,”

Voltaire said, “to the dead

Only the truth.”

If only the lid stayed on

Some carcass buried in an old tin can

Might gas a little

The sides might swell and split

It’s hard to tell

Whether it will blow or vent

Some rat’s hairs

Some tiny bones and claws

Something unspeakable dragged to the carpet

In tabby’s jaws

You allowed too many shareholders

Knowing there would never be

Enough to share

Prestige and the shame of exposure

Driven and lashed together

The pull of one, the shrinking of the other

Stricken to the earth

Augur of your evil hour

What a monstrous supposition

And how often you return

Yet again your chin is wagging

What a fairyland construction

And I count myself entitled to

A conversational opening

Because I speak

When I’m not spoken to

Beauty

(2014, Stephanie Foster)