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Clemens Stark

Butchering Rabbits

To kill one with a single blow takes force.

It leaves them limp, stretched out in the grass

Without a tremour,

White and black and reddish-brown,

A trickle of blood from the nostrils -

Nameless things, that used to be called

Ginger, Popcorn, Snowball, Liz . . .

 

Skin clings tenaciously to the carcass:

Flesh is soft but hard to carve.

My knives are sharp, but unlike Cook Ding

My skill is slight.

 

Fortunately my wife will transform all this

Death to some purpose.

Her rabbit stew is incomparable.

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