From Soft Geography, published by Caitlin Press in 27.

in plastic bags on tuesday nightswe load frozen corpsesfrom industrial-sized freezersinto the back of the suzuki.we drive the kilometre faston the icy highway from the clinic to the milland in the compound, we dodge trucks and loadersand stop at the base of the beehive burner. chips of fire blast from the grill at the tiphot orange flares in the noisy dark;we haul stiff dogs and half-calvesup the metal stairs onto the clanging conveyorthat rattles dead cats to the topand rolls them into the blaze.dad yells up these beasts are killing meand his faint voice jogs with every clanking step.I can see fur through this white bagstill trying to pretend I hold only garbage;I carry the little ones, birds and guinea pigs and gopherswhile dad wrestles the dobermanand the stiff-limbed german shepherdonto the belt that will jerk them into the flames.bang-clink sings the chain that pullsthe chips up and upand rolls the frozen animalsinto a caged and giant firethat whooshes and rails away the winter.