Dead Horse

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