Dream Song 62: That Mytholmroyd rabbit catcher

John Berryman

Dream Song 62: That Mytholmroyd rabbit catcher
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That Mytholmroyd rabbit catcher—
Running his fingers thru the guts and
Entrails of the rabbit he’d caught

Gladdened by the young male—
Hunter’s instinct slicing & dicing the
Mother rabbit with unborn babies
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Sylvia came into the kitchen—
Looked at Hughes’ enorceling face
Getting into the blood & guts of it

Getting his fingers into the—
Squishy, gushy guts of dressing
A trapped rabbit from the moors
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Sylvia felt the horror of it all—
Deep inside here own intestines
Her own body, her own motherhood

She threw him outta the kitchen—
Wouldn’t let him butcher rabbits
Ever again in Cottage Green