Brief reflection on killing the Christmas carp

You take a kitchen-mallet and a knife and hit the right spot, so it doesn’t jerk, for jerking means only complications and reduces profit. And the watchers already narrow their eyes, already admire the dexterity, already reach for their purses. And paper is ready for wrapping it up. And smoke rises from chimneys. And Christmas peers from windows, creeps along the ground and splashes in barrels. Such is the law of happiness. I am just wondering if the carp is the right creature. A far better creature surely would be one which—stretched out—held flat—pinned down— would turn its blue eye on the mallet, the knife, the purse, the paper, the watchers and the chimneys and Christmas, And quickly say something. For instance These are my happiest days; these are my golden days. Or The starry sky above me and the moral law within me, Or And yet it moves. Or at least Hallelujah!