I Wake Up in a Slaughterhouse

I wake up in a slaughterhouse and this is what I see:

Two hands with knives for taking lives are standing over me

I look to my near brother, who curls in wait and weeps

I look to my dear mother, who metal bars back keep

Ahead I smell the blood of friends; behind I hear more squeals

Above I hear the heavy breath whose heaves doth make flesh meals

I cannot think of what I’ve done to need me meet such fate

I’ve birthed and lost and loved with cost, but still I’ll make man’s plate

In those final moments, when blades bore in and hard

I think on treasured memories, though few were worth such guard

Those seconds into sentience, when siblings writhed still warm

That first day of our tenance—that bliss of bold newborns

Of knowing never negligence—only proud, protective please

Of seeing years of future—of family, friends, and ease

Of making mothership my own, if males sought true love, too

Of rearing sons and daughters grown so they can make tales new

Much less did I suffer from the saw that sunk swift in

Than did I from the new lives lost that now won’t come from kin

Much more than on my fate too late did I think on none other

Than on the faultless, frantic fear of my mother and brother

So when you buy my pretty body in a plastic pack

Please pass on condolences to those who now me lack

For it isn’t I who felt the sting of this “I love meat“ thing

It’s all of those I left behind—all those whose friend’s missing