MONOLOGUE FROM A CANINE PRETEXT Poem by Viktor Neborak

The body of the deceased was found in a ditch
in the middle of a yard hung on
a hook and they buried him beyond the garden.
Fido's* hung himself — suicide-dog!
Fido's soul'll be hounded from heaven.
They'll tell him: "You didn't croak the way you should have!"
Then they'll lift him up by the tail and …

Fido's hung himself on his chain at night.
The real nightly R movie** — rat's viewers
sighing, wooing,
curling up, and love-making!

Fido's hung himself! Do you hear? — you!
Are you reading Leaves of Grass?
Marquez? Borges? Hesse? The I Ching? Ah?
Fido's hung himself! That's the change!

You're called a poet,
and he's — a dog.
A poem gnaws at you,
a chain — at him.
Someday you'll be a pro poetaster,
but Fido chose not meat, but the spirit!

How much can you bark at the moon?
How long can you wait for your paycheck?
How much can you scrape our backsides?
Forever?
Till death!
What a schizophrenic profession —
to tend chickens and goats
and send them off to be butchered?

The Constellation of the Dog
pierces through the earth and heavens!