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.