And angels bake the bread

And angels bake the bread 

The morning her veterinarian woke in her bed he fed her spaghetti smashed the noodles into her mouth lit a candy cigarette after sauce on her white coverlet the vinegar-bleached sheets. There wasn't a fight. She simply wished him empty of music. He was not allowed to tell her how his feet burned how bright steam rose from the dog's bowl. He held her head under water and sang Mahler Saint John has let his little lamb go to the butcher Herod. They watched TV at night drowning. It felt like progress. Life was good under the ginger bell the animal hospital's glowing blue cross.