As if your cancer weren't enough,
the guinea pig is dying.
The kids brought him to me
wrapped in a bath towel
‘Do something, Mom.
Save his life.'
I'm a good mom.
I took time from work,
drove him to the vet,
paid $77.00 for his antibiotics.
Now, after the kids rush off to school,
you and I sit on the bed.
I hold the guinea pig, since he bites.
You fill the syringe.
We administer the foul smelling medicine,
hoping the little fellow will live.
admitting to each other:
if he doesn't,
it'll be good practice.
the guinea pig is dying.
The kids brought him to me
wrapped in a bath towel
‘Do something, Mom.
Save his life.'
I'm a good mom.
I took time from work,
drove him to the vet,
paid $77.00 for his antibiotics.
Now, after the kids rush off to school,
you and I sit on the bed.
I hold the guinea pig, since he bites.
You fill the syringe.
We administer the foul smelling medicine,
hoping the little fellow will live.
admitting to each other:
if he doesn't,
it'll be good practice.
by Julie Cadwallader-Staub
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