The Mole

 
We've collared and ruled
the descendants of wolves
husking them of their ancestral privileges.
If we were more than anatomical
and blessed(cursed) with a soul
would it permit such acts of god?

My dog caught track of a mole,
dug it up and shook it to death.
Limp, lifeless, plastic bag in the mud.
I can see the tangled bones beneath
its screaming twisted skin,
and I'm sitting on a tail of why.

My dog won't eat it
and was definitely not threatened by it.
It's left with instincts
from thousands of years ago where
that sack of earth's meat
would of served as a survival ration -

but all that is left is wasted:
the painful death of a humble mole
and an instinct that's lost
with the soul of a mole
because man could tame a beast
rendering it lethal
and even more so, without a purpose.

This isn't nature, or nature's course.
The maps have been burnt;
paw-prints covered with tarmac
though the perpetual nature of death remains
and as I stood
over the deflated mole
something morbid yet euphoric
tingled up my arm, shoulder
and through my hair
then vacated leaving me like a feather.

As I looked to my bewildered dog
her eyes were saying:

See? Did you see? Right through your fucking hair.