Susan Hawthorne #39 all my dead 2

farms can be cruel places
animals are killed
cooped up
used

the cats were eliminated first
to protect the native birds

the racehorse died when it fell
from the back of the truck
my father had to shoot

some of the ducks and chooks
became food on dinner plates

the monthly kill was the roast
lamb and chops we ate

when the other horse died
she was left to rot on top
of the earth her body too big
to dig a grave

scattered around the paddocks
were fleeces of dead sheep
lambs whose eyes had been pecked

the dogs had it best
outside dogs who worked the flocks
inside dogs we loved