Thursday, August 20, 2015

Donal Mahoney- Three Poems

They Call It Euthanasia

We took a feral cat
we'd been feeding to the vet
when it stopped eating.

It was lying on the deck
too weak to object.
The vet said tests

would cost $400
to figure out the problem.
Or we could euthanize the cat.

That would cost less.
It was up to us, he said.
I asked him if old and sick

cats and dogs were still 
euthanized with gas
and he said no.

It’s by injection now.
They don’t feel a thing.
Perhaps that will help

if the Court decides
some day to cull
the herd of old folks.

Fetuses Shmetuses

Planned Parenthood 
surgeons deplore 
the murder 

of Cecil the Lion. 
They wonder how a
medical colleague

a dentist no less
could murder a lion.
Fetuses shmetuses.


Homer’s never owned a gun,
thinks they should be banned
along with bombs and missiles.

Doesn’t need them in the river
that flows between his mind
and his emotions

where every now and then
he pushes someone in 
for some untoward remark.

He points to the sky first,
says that’s where heaven is
and gives a push

and waits to hear the scream
and then the splash.
His notebook says

some folks float away,
are never found, flotsam
among the jetsam.

Others he dives in to save
so he can push them in again
to save another day.

Donal Mahoney lives in St. Louis, Missouri.

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