We argue about whether saving 100 chickens
– their feathers to be patted
by a sentimental lesbian –
will help to save their million brothers and sisters
on the conveyor belt line.
This was after eating two pink lamb cutlets,
and maybe drinking too much wine.
She said it was a significant gesture.
I wondered in the shower this morning
about people who choke up
when their cats and dogs die.
Am I just a hard, heartless person?
We keep going to dinner parties with vegetarians.
As a farm boy, I killed rabbits. I didn’t exactly like it,
but I didn’t mind that much either.
The best part of my family was meals.
At that time, chicken was
occasional Sunday roast best.
I’m too poor to buy free range food.
And I’m greedy, which you are too.
I remember Trixie, our Australian terrier,
and Trigger, our sheep dog, indeterminate breed,
and I loved them.
But when it was time for them to die, they died.
We’ve got a lesbian friend, who keeps her cats in a cage in the backyard,
so they won’t get hurt.
As a country kid, I was close to cemeteries
full of persons I knew the name of.
Saving 100 Chickens
1 February 2012