WAR STORY #133: HELICOPTER RIDE WITH CADAVER DOG
It was hot on the chopper.
On top of that,
a cadaver dog sat
big as Sunday
beside me.
He stared out the glass.
His tongue unrolled
like a carpet.
The handler stroked his ear.
Well heeled,
this dog.
I laughed.
What I wouldn’t give
for an open window.
The dog leaning into
ninety-knot breeze,
barking.
Barking his fool head off.
—from Rattle #34, Winter 2010
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Paul David Adkins: “In a helicopter I dwell on death, no matter the level of danger. I consider off-color distractions to relax. This pooch’s presence was perfect. A body-detecting machine transformed for a minute to a mutt I could play with, toss a ball. Its only tricks—roll over, shake hands, play dead.”
