works by william pham, 2005-present

index | poetry | fiction

I Killed Laika
I am an unnamed Russian scientist
Who studied biology and astrophysics
To build missiles and bombs,
To kill my fellow man in multitudes and
In multiples of thousands of millions.

I built missiles and bombs
To wash their bones in A Two Three Zero,
The unclassified designation for classified
Death, hidden away in documents stacked
Two and three stories high in
Dark government buildings.

It was outside one of these
Dark government buildings that
I found a pretty dog and I brought her
Out of the cold and into my home.
My small home, I lived alone,
With its single bed and single table
And single chair, my small home for
This pretty dog that I found.

We called her Kudryavka, we called her
The pretty dog that I found,
We called her Zhuchka, and Limonchik,
But she was always little Laika,
The pretty dog that I found.

We trained her to survive in the simulated
Environment of space but we never trained her
To be lonely, to live alone; we never trained her
To survive in the loneliness of space,
With its long, black arms and
The voiceless touch of space.

I sent her into space alone.

Did she cry, did she bark, did she voicelessly accept
The constant temperature of
One hundred and four degrees Fahrenheit,
And the tasteless nutrient gel
Poisoned with chemicals to put her to sleep;
The tasteless nutrient gel that
I poisoned with chemicals to put her to sleep? 

Did she die from exhaustion, overheating, or
The poison that I put into her food?
Did she die from oxygen starvation, or
The poison that I put into her food?
I sent her into space alone,
The pretty dog that I found.

Of all the crimes I have committed,
Preserved in the classified documentation
Of death stacked two or three stories high in
Dark government buildings,
There is but one crime I wish I did not commit.

I killed Laika, the pretty dog that I found;
I sent her into space alone.

copyright (c) 2006 by william pham