Garrett Roth
Soulless
A shoe walked in for miles and miles
Worn through to threadbare
Incapable of caring that the foot it carries
Is cut upon the glass it treads
A farmer
So neglectful of the flock
That when one is sick it is left to rot
Each breath a decomposing while the farmhand does his best to understand
But while the foot the shoe carries is bleeding
It is the hand of the same body that scattered the shards
Carefully chosen to make ribbons of the flesh
And while the farmhand cries silent tears
The farmer has not let the rotting carcass linger
In its sickness it is taken far away
Far from the eyes of the young farmhand
To the foot of the mountains
The farmer shoulders its weight so it would not suffer for the journey
And lets its blood water the soil where the rest of the flock would graze the next day
It was quick and merciful and dignified
But despite the care and loving hand
It is the job of the farmhand to dispose of the body
Now that it’s buried
In a pit wide and deep and covered in the flowers only found clutched white-knuckled in the hands of those smoking outside the funeral home
Taking a break from paying their respects
What does the farmhand do when the flock is grazing the following morning
And finds as each head is counted
There is one more than there should be
A sheep with wilting funeral flowers adorning its dirty wool coat
And a scar where its throat was once laid bare