Gutting Fish

Near the open door
Behind a small end table
Lay the knife
I killed them with.

The rug was soaked
It was covered with dark
Stained matter.
The bodies lay in heaps.

The way they died,
Blood pouring from their wounds.
I sat and watched them stop moving
It was quicker than I thought

I smoked a while
As I sat there.
I thought about
What I had done

I could see the intestines
Bulging from one side of the small one.
The young ones are always the toughest.
But it had to be done.