The Myth of Innocence, an answer, perhaps, to
I must have missed the kittens others saw
drowned when they were young.  Puppies blind in sacks
weighted, or the city way, left on tracks,
or just plain left.  But the kids round us swore
Ian at the end house threw his rabbit
live against the garage door.  Little shit -
he probably did.  I didn't see it
but we held it against him anyway.
I don't remember innocence at all
or its loss.  The rabbit survived I guess
a bit bruised and dazed like after the fall -
myself - I've always been a twitchy mess,
and though lacking 'memories' I did build heart,
so hating Ian must have played some part.
I was six when I first saw kittens drown.
Dan Taggart pitched them, 'the scraggy wee shits',
Into a bucket; a frail metal sound,

Soft paws scraping like mad. But their tiny din
Was soon soused. They were slung on the snout
Of the pump and the water pumped in.

'Sure, isn't it better for them now?' Dan said.
Like wet gloves they bobbed and shone till he sluiced
Them out on the dunghill, glossy and dead.

Suddenly frightened, for days I sadly hung
Round the yard, watching the three sogged remains
Turn mealy and crisp as old summer dung

Until I forgot them. But the fear came back
When Dan trapped big rats, snared rabbits, shot crows
Or, with a sickening tug, pulled old hens' necks.

Still, living displaces false sentiments
And now, when shrill pups are prodded to drown
I just shrug, 'Bloody pups'. It makes sense:

'Prevention of cruelty' talk cuts ice in town
Where they consider death unnatural
But on well-run farms pests have to be kept down.

Seamus Heaney

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