Metro Gestapo arriving only now, they slimily insinuate themselves, as if only to prove their mandate, attempting to stun, restrain — impossibly, which is possibly only for the cameras closing in, how they’re uniformly heroes, expecting the martyrdom of sudden fame, or promotion to a desk. Survived only to be taken from the Joysey wood, never lost their instincts, these dogs are here treeing what domestication’s being called for: the microphone menschs, the skied and skated lights and sound — dogs freakishly howling at the rising sun, snouting out its shine from behind the smokecast weather. They begin with their ripping and tearing, and then — even the hulkingest two or three encircled in the square, these specimens almost monstrous, worked muscular and venegeful, they’re swallowing up the evermore arriving medics, doctors, nurses, and miscellaneous disaster professionals, volunteer spectators by the hundreds if not thousands and more having sleighed or skied, skated and snowshod in from Joysey, smoked out of the city, melting into a stream sourced from all its fivealarmed boroughs: these dogs, they’re gulping them up, gnashing the gawkers then swallowing down…the terrible gape of their jaws, their mawgasps, a grum whinny, such pain in their haunches — aflame; Gestapo and those immediately, provisionally, deputized don’t let it go to your head, they’re trying their damnedest to subdue with smallarms fire, which only slows, though, and angers more, these mutants trudging on, doggeda-head and always toward the ice, Manhattan’s skyline fray. A coldbottomed, darkmorning hell of monkeys frantically freed and jumping up and down atop canine backs, dogs and bitches, too, with pups hanging from their teats, distended, burning they’re squealing at suck, biting on for their lives, chewing blood into milk, swinging, six on each at least and gnawing one another, as if leashed, by their teeth, they’re pendulous in the air, and tenuous there — and then, a gullscattering smatter of heavier weaponry, a cannon, must be, gross bombinations who can tell from whence they come whether over the ice from the Battery or from Joyseyways, and with their paws placed forward a first step from the rim of Manhattan’s ice, the dogs totter, lean, and slowly, one by one, fall, raising steam, a surface splash, crushing their pups to drown them, they fall dead the monkeys, too, what with their weight and fall how they fall through the ice now, to the water below, to begin their slow hairy sinks; firemenschs gathering throughout the paddly, madly shrieking descent of that afternoon and later even, quieting, as the dogs’ bodies fix, and the monkeys’ fix, too, then freeze; only to become melted, though, amid the roasting of marshmallows, certifiably kosher, speared on sticks of Israelien furniture — armchairs, desklegs, bedlegs — in the dusking dying flames set upon their flesh.
And then, as if feathers from wings, as stars ejected from the flight of the sky — snow begins to fall.
