Skin A Rabbit Poem by Terry Collett

Uncle showed you
the way to skin a rabbit.
The dead furred creature
swung from his hand.

You remember the knife
slitting open
the soft belly
and the innards
dragged out
and cut
until all was cleared
out and ready.

Then he broke
the back ankles
and pulled off the skin,
like one undressing
a small woman
from her coat of fur,
until the naked body
remained
and the fur covered
the head.

You watched
with your stomach moving
as he chopped off
the head
and with the fur covered over,
tossed it in a bag
to be disposed of later.

There’s dinner,
Uncle said,
one naked rabbit,
small and cold
and dead.