It was a sort of an abattoir –
But an open space
With no gadgets in use
To process the byproducts,
Forced-meats, marrows or ligaments
For induced appetites
And profits for a market –
Bovines were slaughtered
Only for their comestibles meat
Among stakeholders to be shared.
The rest was left scattered
For those on tree tops
Perched with intent
To swoop down
And sweep the remaining contents,
The butchers willfully abandoned.
It was here, on my way back home
After an eventless roam,
I noticed a stray Puppy dog
Following me all along.
Upon home arrival
I looked back final
And closed the gate as usual.
But the next daylight.
The canine was still sitting tight,
At the same site,
I left him the other night.
I then let it in to respite,
Realizing its plight
And there on, no need to prove
It became turtledove,
Household member
Hand and glove.
Until one day It eloped
With a nearby millionaire’s
Rutting dog.
Upon returning home
The dog I raised
Bit me off nearly to death,
Sever the entire fingers
In unrestrained anger,
For wasting its life
In a poor-man’s shelter.
Profuse blood gashed out
And as I staggered,
Unable to shout
Seeking support,
I saw a python slither
Down the attics to the stairs.
Gob smacked I stood and stared
Hard to believe what had transpired.
Little did I know I had uninvited resident.
To scale down exigently unhesitant.
Then the serpent coiled round my arm
And engorged the severed hand to my alarm!
Terrified by the ensuing events,
Concurrently I fainted,
More to do with the mind state
Than the damage inflicted
That led me hallucinate.
Past the clock,
When someone did knock
From a deep sleep,
Up then I woke,
And saw a bloke,
My own son it looked,
Yielding a long knife
To tear off the python alive –
Sidewise.
Unaware he was
Who the real threat did pose.
But I shouted: Stop! Stop!!
And the son froze,
The knife dropped.
It was the Ophidian,
We do not see eye to eye
That deployed a master plan,
With the techniques it knows how,
It staunched the blood flow
And maintained the severed hand’s
Heat aglow.
Using its mouth hot-air blow.
Indeed, hallucinate I did not,
As I wanted to believe
Indeed The ophidian I mistrust
Came to my rescue at last!
As wise men would say
Worry not of those distant away
But the ones who rub shoulders,
The myrmidons, yea-sayer
Who would dare?
Push you down the precipices
To break your pelvises
When you are no longer of services.
Temesgn Kebede