A bat for the back
and the barrel, a stick
for the stifle and thigh,
a two-by-four for the flat,
long forehead. Whack,
thud, thwack, and thump.
Poll to hoof—with club, rope,
whip, or handle—I’ll whale
on that beast, pummel
and pound until I’m dog tired,
until I can’t see straight, until
the goddamn cows come home.
First published in Tar River Poetry, v.50, no.2, Spring 2011