beaten

there's this tarp
laying by that garbage bin that looks like a dead dog

was it vicariously
or just nostalgic rage
of our father's past
that we relived/relieved in that garbage pile
we smashed that place to nothing
we would have crushed any skull we found
we didn't kill him
we just decimated the remains
there's always those fucking dental records
we'd have to swallow the teeth

he questioned once
if he raped the girl
and then beat her to death with a flashlight
could he manage enough determination
and leverage
to off himself in the same manner
to avoid prison

that tarp over there crumpled in a pile looks like a dead dog
there's something poetic about death
that reaches beyond words
I wish it were a dog
God wouldn't have shed a tear
he's the one that made us temporary
and so susceptible to being broken in half
by the most primitive of means