Home > Poetry > Reflections in the Meat Department

Reflections in the Meat Department

Examining the factory processed and cryovaced remains of your scions in the meat department,

Poking, bending to test for flexibility, not fully satisfied, but contemplating already what brines, rubs, or marinades to use this time, which fruit and nut woods to wed with your rosy pink flesh,

Struck, quite unexpectedly, by the unfairness of it all. We have both been brought low.

Once we met,

in the Teutonburg,

I, armed with a Spear,

you with your razor sharp tusks,

and an unconquerable will.

You gave up your life, to feed my village,

we honored your death with a great feast,

and offered up prayers to the gods that you would return,

and we might meet again.

But not like this,

I never meant us to meet like this,

It is fated that neither you nor I will die in battle in this life old friend,

But I will wash your tender pink flesh, and pat it dry, ever so gently,

rub it with good olive oil, coarse salt, crushed fennel seed, and a little red pepper.

Burn a fire of oak down to glowing embers,

Give you a proper send off,

To honor you, to honor the gods,

I pray for your return,

maybe in the next life,

the cycle of history will permit us to meet,

once again,

on more honorable terms.

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Categories: Poetry
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