Our Stomachs are Graveyards¹

We lie the tender, down-ruffled 
Bird on a platter and ponder how to 
Eat out its Heart, without causing it distress.²
With bright Knives he releaseth my soul, he 
Maketh me to hang on Hooks in high places—
He converteth me to Cutlets.³
This Raw Flesh reeks of 
The butcher’s cleaver!⁴

We’re so kind-hearted that we can’t look at 
Blood, but enjoy eating the calf served up with Sauce—⁵
We have just dined, and however scrupulously the 
Slaughterhouse is Concealed in the graceful 
Distance of miles, you are Complicit—⁶

The Flesh of slain beasts in our bodies will become 
Our own Tomb—for they who kill—Kill themselves!⁷
To learn the cause of killing, terror, bombs, and war—
Listen to the cries at midnight by the Butcher’s door.⁸

Desire not the Flesh of slaughtered Animals—
Take no Milk mothers have made for their Young—
Grieve not unsuspecting Birds by eating their Eggs—
Spare even the Honey which Bees gather industriously,
For they do not Gather it that it might belong to others.⁹

Empathy must be limited to Herbivores!¹⁰


¹ Arundhati Roy, The Ministry of Utmost Happiness
² Yukio Mishima tr. Nathan, The Sailor Who Fell from Grace with the Sea
³ Roger Waters, Sheep
⁴ Sylvia Plath, Street Song
⁵ Leo Tolstoy tr. Louise and Aylmer Maude, War and Peace
⁶ Ralph Waldo Emerson, The Conduct of Life
⁷ Essene Gospel of Peace
⁸ Cloud of Vows tr. unknown, Stop Killing
⁹ Al Ma’arra tr. original, Do Not Unjustly Eat
¹⁰ Philip K. Dick, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?