Happy Little Animals on Butcher Shop
Windows
Bouncing,
bleating, rollicking, free,
sprightly,
springing, fleet and fleecy,
the
doe-eyed lambs and carefree calves
gambol
across the green meadows of glass,
while
below on a bed
of
plastic ferns and grass
rot
the red raw remains
of
their dear dead mamas.
They
frolic seemingly unaware
of
the horror beneath their nose,
they
carry on with such innocent airs
do
those happy little animals
on butcher shop windows.
Why
do ducks on poultry vans smile?
Wave
scepters, wear crowns in regal style?
Grinning
chickens imply
that
it's awfully nice
to
rotate on a spit
with
your arse full of spice?
And
what crueler caper
than
the chef's hat, apron
and
look of smug conceit
on
the face of the cleaver-wielding pig
on
the back of the pack
of
pressed meat?
Like
that creaking stair
in
the dead of night
there's
something a bit on the nose,
a
dark family secret
no
one sees, speaks or hears
put
those happy little animals
on
butcher shop windows.
Having a friend for dinner....
ReplyDelete... Agent Starling
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