In the corpse’s fist: angel feathers.
The autopsy revealed a beating heart.
The earthworms spelled out, “I’m alive.”
Death came early. “Typical”, she said.
The children made bloody snow angels.
Since where our yard ends, wilds abound,
We thought it fine to let our hound
Roam as he liked. No neighbors could complain.
Each night, he'd bark and bay and snort
At woodland critters, just for sport,
Then bring home bones of every sort.
You know how that is.
Then one night—silence. All in vain
We searched until the trail went cold.
Our worries lingered unconsoled.
What if he'd met the thing that gobbled Gladys?
"I finished reading Hungry Thing and loved every bit of it. I mean really loved it."