From it The reek of rats engorged his snout And frothflecked face. He strained his leash Beside himself, Exhilarated. Pant Pant PANT Knowing only leather and soil separated him from soft vemin flesh...., His meatlust rose.
The men let him off.
Trou
But he was not swallowed. He was not chewed up. He was gone. He had entered The void in the bank Briskly In a shuddering convulsion of joy.
Rex
Entered the Underworld and trotted off into black.
We looked at each other. He could come back up? Or was he stuck? There were periods of silence
When the men hushed us and spat to punctuate the time.
There was no sound now.
A moment of grunting, A yelp and shrill screeching
Begins.
Then The rats would scream.
Toutou.
We, The boys would look as the men sniggered and knew we had to laugh too at the terrified cries.
Someone had plugged his escape..., Casually, For the sport of it.
The dawning that he had been buried inside, trapped, made some DNA coil within us tighten tighten Ball tighteningly taut,
That wrench was how to be a man. To bury deep our frantic rage, Backfill the holes And grin grimly at its bloodied clawing fight for air.
Doggy.
Eddie Malone lives far, far out in the boggy countryside with his rescue dogs and his demons.