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Monday, May 12, 2008

the taste of blood


The last dog we had growing up, a boxer named Bullet,
developed the habit of jumping up and laying his paws
on the chest of anyone who approached. Licking and
slobbering, he only wanted to play, but would knock over
small children, so we were forced to take him to live in the
rural town of my grandparents. There was plenty of open space.
Rabbits and possums to hunt. When he needed to be chained,
he had the shade of the plum trees. On our visits we would throw
the green canning plums for him to chase. He liked to chase. He
also went after the neighbor’s chickens sometimes and killed a few.
“Once they get the taste of blood, you might as well shoot ’em,”
the man explained.
And one day, that’s just what he did.

first fist fight
the taste of blood
in my mouth

(p. 5, small events: haibun by w. f. owen,
Red Moon Press, 2007)

This is one of fifty haibun from my book.
Haibun are prose elements combined with haiku.
There is an interplay of the two in which a surplus
of meaning occurs. It offers an expansion of creativity
in a sense. Some haiku have more of a "story" to them
than the brief lines allow. From time to time
I will place more haibun here.

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