poet

Ken Babstock

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by this poet

poem
That dog padded home wearing a rip 
in his back, clicked onto the kitchen linoleum 
with a five-inch smile down his saddling spine.

Where pebbles and dark grit stuck to the wound's 
lips, vertebrae like molars grinned through 
in an anemic bluish white. The dumb grey

meat of his tongue like a sodden flag