【by Maria Korman】

The poor dead mink lay cold and still
Upon the dissection mat.
I tried not to make eye contact
With that pale and mummified rat.

We gagged and winced at the horrid smell
We tensely paced about,
I refused to touch the scalpel,
Till my groupmates all bailed out.

See, I thought it would suffice
To stand around directing.
With my clean gloves and my clear words
I’d guide them through dissecting

But no, it seems, ‘twas not my fate.
I tied my hair back, neat,
And once I got over myself
It wasn’t unlike cutting meat

So I severed off his leg,
I cut his little bones
I checked off all the boxes
Of tendons, ligaments, joints.

And after, as we cleaned
And put the mink away
Into his shrink-wrap plastic bag
Sealed up with blue scotch-tape

A sort of sadness filled me
For our shriveled, pathetic buddy
Who had given up his life
For an anatomy class study.

So now I pay respects to him
In a way I think is civil:
Through words that last forever
And immortalize poor Shrivel.