Ballad by Bradley Clacy
By Bradley Clacy
Heaving stomachs, pustulating udders,
crying, shrieking with a moo
throats slit, bodies convulsing
all of this to satisfy you.
‘But this cannot be,’ you exclaim
with blocked ears and half-shut eyes
you will mutter any excuse
to continue with your lies.
Syringe full from the semen of a bull,
a continuous cycle of rape
milk production waning, her children dead
for her there is no escape.
‘But what about the circle of life?’
so we should kill just because we can?
there’re plenty other options before us
this isn’t the wild, you’re not a caveman.
Like Jews of Auschwitz they’re nameless
forced to file to their death
branded sides like tattooed arms
slaughtered, gassed, choking for breath.
‘But we kill them humanely,’
and here is where the paradox lies
a cognitive dissonance of the mind
thinking murder humane is unwise.
Chickens crammed in tiny cages,
unable to turn around
chopped beaks, broken bones,
their male chicks sliced and ground.
‘But, but, but—’ Silence!
I have heard it all before
nothing you say is new to me
you kill for taste, nothing more.
- Bradley Clacy is currently studying for a Masters in Creative Writing who’s in the process of drafting a screenplay with hopes of seeing it as a film.