No: you were dead And that was an end. Gloved like a surgeon I can fillet a pig In minutes, the bristles Of hair giving grip And the fat giving way To the knife's low wit. That is death And that is the end. When shoppers come in I smile and incline My head to one side And show them the shine On a side of lamb And the rub of the rind. That is food And that is death's end. And so you were dead And finished and done. I smile with my head On one side and the sun Splashes a loin And again you are gone.