To The One Holding The Cleaver

by Kushal Poddar


The fat street dog says
something good about
the butcher. All I hear,
a woof, has days, months
years of love streaming
upwards. The butcher
has blood on his apron.
Because this day I
have a banquet at home,
I see smileys, red.
And the goat head smiles.
The dog’s curly tail
too, smiles. The butcher’s
cleaver blinks a sunny day.

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