School of Practical Dissection

Kenny Williams

In the hands of the priest 

 the heart has to break 

 like crockery, for a single man, 

 not the human race 

 which we love into oblivion 

 and despise in general. 

 In the hands of the anatomist 

 it leaps, the heart, like a trout --

 small, brown, and poached --

 at the end of the line. 

 Faster students than our teachers, 

 we feel like boys playing hooky, 

 just wetting our toes 

 in the landlord's river, 

 passing his jug from 

 mouth to mouth.