Jerry the Hairy

 

He came late in the night 

beetles, dirt and rotten meat.

Stood still for days, head in the corner   

never lift a broken finger.  

Then weeks dragging feet, eating meat  

and cow’s brain.  

My mother thought he was harmless  

my brother never looked.  

Wish I had known there was no middle ground.  

 

Late in the year, five minutes ago  

the time for human flesh.  

Bit me deep in the neck  

and here I am.  

No point in mourning, I have little time left.  

Why did he come back?  

I soon tossed him to the floor  

and there he is, flailing arms.

Mouth blood red,  

pupils whiter than his skin.  

 

There was no light in his eyes  

as soon won’t be in mine.  

No compassion  

but for himself.  

Perhaps a lingering soul  

as soon I will be.  

 

Rodrigo Arruda

December 2020