The Presence of Absence

Having no use for my left hand,

I cut it off and toss it, a little

Meat and numerous fine bones,

To the dog lifting its leg in the alley.

And to my right hand? You may expect

That it will follow, since that

Is the way of things. One

Idiotic gesture surely leads

To another. This is the mature

Expectation, isn't it? Isn't someone's

Best friend always taking up

Cigarettes, jumping off a cliff,

Sticking his head in an oven, any

And every symbolic foolishness, and won't

Someone, when his mother turns

Her back, do just the same?

But you were wondering about the presence of absence.

You were wondering about the dog's hunger.

You were wondering about my right hand.

You were expecting me to say that it too

Must go -- so long, goodbye.

I must disappoint you. My right hand

I will keep and wave about

As I lecture you on happiness. I will keep it

To scratch the dog's ears and itch.

I will keep it for my wife's pleasure.

I will keep it because, with no other

Hand to grip the knife, I must.

I will keep it because I will not

Ask you to undo what I cannot.

--Jeff Mock, Ruthless, (Three Candles Press, 2010)