Jody Azzouni


Kill a Rabbit

Originally published in APA's Newsletter on Philosophy and Medicine 90:2, Winter, 1991
Added 6/19/2020
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Kill a Rabbit

Poem | Jody's Notes


After I saw that T.V. special the other night

after Mom told me again I’d never been breastfed,

I remembered again the baby

you made me throw away

like garbage. It was something crawling

out of a sea gasping for air

while your doctor friends

pushed its face into a toilet.

I hope your life is almost over.

You were supposed to be nervous,

chewing your fingernails,:

their half moons setting bloody in your cuticles;

your eyes black with ash, your cheeks wet.

But instead the nurse saw you put your face

down on my bed and snore

like a motor while somewhere else

in another room where you didn’t have to see it,

they scrapped my insides.

It could have been a girl.

But instead her fleshy crib threw her up

and afterwards my breasts hurt

as if they wanted to spit.

Hopefully, late at night sometime,

when you’re drunk enough for it

to make an impression,

something dead will recognize you’re its father

and reach for your ankle through a sewer grate.