Shooting Rats at the Bibb County Dump

　　by David Bottoms

　　 Loaded on beer and whiskey， we ride

　　 to the dump in carloads

　　 to turn our headlights across the wasted field，

　　 freeze the startled eyes of rats against mounds of rubbish.

　　 Shot in the head， they jump only once， lie still

　　 like dead beer cans.

　　 Shot in the gut or rump， they writhe and try to burrow

　　 into garbage， hide in old truck tires，

　　 rusty oil drums， cardboard boxes scattered across the mounds，

　　 or else drag themselves on forelegs across our beams of light

　　 toward the darkness at the edge of the dump.

　　 It's the light they believe kills.

　　 We drink and load again， let them crawl

　　 for all they're worth into the darkness we're headed for.

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