Livestock

Rating: 5.0

At journey's end, forced to debark
and follow ramps
That funnel them down through the dark,
into a damp,

Metallic room, where racks of knives
await - they go,
In single file, their route devised
so none can know

In minutes they will all be dead.
They only mind
That what keeps prodding them ahead
is from behind.


First published in Flying Island.

Livestock
Wednesday, May 17, 2017
Topic(s) of this poem: animals,death of a friend,mercy
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COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Susan Williams 17 May 2017

I eat beef- -but at the same time I cannot abide how the cattle are killed.... they smell the death in those buildings, they are not at peace as they walk along.... I feel like such a hypocrite to criticize the method of death yet continue to eat the product. A 10 for this, Mr. Carter

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