by Robert Creeley
If you were going to get a pet
what kind of animal would you get.
A soft-bodied dog, a hen —
feathers and fur to begin it again.
When the sun goes down and it gets dark
I saw an animal in a park.
Bring it home, to give it to you.
I have seen animals break in two.
You were hoping for something soft
and loyal and clean and wondrously careful —
a form of otherwise vicious habit
can have long ears and be called a rabbit.
Dead. Died. Will die. Want.
Morning, midnight. I asked you,
if you were going to get a pet
what kind of animal would you get.
From:
The New American Poetry 1945-1960, Donald Allen
Copyright ©:
University of California Press (1999)
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