Another Chicken
a thin neck takes blade.
the same cruel that has always been.
a predator-prey
pong game of pulsing red.
the hatchet crouches
between split throat
on bespattered bench.
ghosts of other limp plump
domesticated birds
lurk in the muck,
a succession of slaughters
over thousands of years.
should have been left to fly,
not bred down, whose ancestors
were once bright actors,
under a forearm’s
flex?
another thoughtless tensor
brought to us by the scourge of hunger
in a global abbatoir
of unthought whys.
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