A Trip to the Vet
Lately, you have been sick
And we just don't know what to do with you.
You're itching at your skin—
Scratching the dry, leathery patches until they scab
And ooze a mixture of blood and puss.
Your ears are dripping a waxy fluid
And the kids choke on it
When they go to cuddle with you.
It's not that we don't love you anymore.
You just don't smell pleasant anymore.
You're also getting crotchety,
As if you snarl at the world that did this to you,
Angry at God for birthing you to become this.
Your legs wobble when you walk.
It looks like they could cave in at any time,
Causing you to collapse, helplessly
Lying on the floor.
If you hadn't become so resigned to your discouragement,
So engulfed in the utter disappointment you have for your failing limbs,
People might feel bad for you,
But they don't.
You don't wake up in the morning anymore.
You don't get out of bed to urinate.
If you're comfortable, you'd rather bathe in your urine
And smell like your waste.
Well, whatever makes you happier.
You might've lost your voice a little while back,
So you can't really tell us how you feel.
Some dogs bark.
Others bite.
You just cough
To clear the sand from your throat,
Forcing the dusty, lodged syllables out of your mouth
In a thick, tarry mucous.
Whatever you want to say gets covered in it
And sinks into the ejecting ponds of spittle.
I'm sorry we no longer understand you.
I'm sorry we're not there for you.
I'm sorry I don't care as much as I used to.
I'm sorry I don't care.
I try not to.
I don't want to know the pain you feel.
I don't want to know what it's like
To know that each step my joints are breaking inside of me;
To know that I don't have much longer to live;
To know that Death is waiting to claim me,
Laughing as I hobble back to my feet in the morning.
You're suffering,
But you're just an animal.
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poem by Tim Stensloff
Added by Poetry Lover
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