I ate some pork at supper
And from each chunk devoured
Some place else I would ponder
Why its taste often towers
Above every food other.
I recalled shoving mouths with much crop—
Crop which could have been used to save men
Then to slaughterhouses them we prod
Where on tight, harsh ropes them we’d suspend
Then cut them
Then blood-let
Then drop them
Heads first and tails last
So death was not fast;
But we laughed and slipped care from our minds,
For we are worth more than these fat swine.
I dreamt of neck-tied pigs at slumber
Manhandled our small mouths with much crop.
And if for our rights we’re a bother,
They harshly hanged us on their rooftops
Then we climbed
With two hands
Those long ropes
But failed by our mass
So death was not fast;
Yet they laughed; humaneness not on minds;
They said we’re worth less than them fat swine.
Then I woke up, saw I killed my brother.
