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Butcher (Free verse) by Christof 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.
Up the ladder:
Two Eagles
Down the ladder:
Frozen beauty
Votes: (green: user, blue: anonymous)
Arithmetic Mean: 6.3
Posted: August 21, 2002 8:41 AM PDT; Last modified: August 21, 2002 8:41 AM PDTWeighted score: 5.65 Overall Rank: 2118 The following users have marked this poem on their favorites list:
Comments:
[7]
Lenore @ 64.252.100.33
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21-Aug-02/9:57 AM
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Reply
This reminds me, Butchers give me the creeps. hmmmmmm
May I print this and hang it up in my kitchen? It's has such prettiness to it. Hair giving grip, fat giving way, knife's low wit. I wish I knew how to write. No matter gentlemen like you make it a pleaser just to read 10/10
that's pleasure, not pleaser. I'm the pleaser, well half the time.
Venom mitigated. I am all lovely muted hopefulness. Thanks for the poem.
he... children of modern night...dontcha know heart ache andv he heartAS COLD i HAVE NO SHIONE FOR YOU DRUEL...DRUEL
I only wish I could paint my world with this "black and white" brush. I love the finality.
You are unstoppable, you are a master!
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