for Thomas Nagel
Let your child play with death: a pet loses fur,
stops whistling for spinach, stops the funny
running for life, the hiding under a couch.
And it dies with dignity, found in its plastic house
ready for the vet’s small furnace. It felt pain,
of course, mammals do; and looked sick
and tired, for a while. But all without self-pity —
what would be the evolutionary gain?
When the surviving guinea pig sprawled
for two days in front of the dead one’s empty blue
plastic dome, you might’ve assumed the same cause.
But the pig returned home, again whistled for food,
again fled for cover. Did you wonder, had this guinea pig
been mourning for his lover, his aging friend and guide?
Of course such words do cause some a brief quiver.
But how pitiful, you might have cried.