Several months back
I began writing a poem about a slug I killed
with salt when I child. The poem
quickly devolved into a Morton Salt history lesson
and advertisement.
The poem’s initial intent
was to parallel my somewhat innocent
torturous slug salience
to the George Floyd atrocity.
As I sit here in reflection of the aforementioned,
I realize I could have easily just written:
when I was a child
I killed a slug
by sprinkling salt
on its supple body.
Killing the slug
made me feel
quite terrible.
I imagine police
officers feel
not too good
after they kill
another human,
regardless of
guilt, innocence,
or other circumstance.
(The act of killing
carries its own burden.)