“They’re eating pygmies,”
I read, in privileged horror,
mince pack and iPhone in hand.

Shoppers packed the aisle.

The previous day
on the highway,
(on a sunny afternoon),
a fox was squashed
by tire after tire.
At one ten, it makes a fine paste.

But I still can’t get over this pygmy thing
from around 2001.
It’s an unfathomable –
even comfortingly surreal –
streak of insanity
to have to comprehend,

which makes me wish I read the Sun,
and could know that this was evil;
alien; monstrous; not something
that I could do in the right environment
with the right tools.

And, although I consume it,
meat makes me uncomfortable
(sometimes): the geometric
cubes, strips and patterns
that fragment the body
into lifeless material,
distanced from its source.

That’s well suppressed; yet it’s
the juxtaposition of
the face and the meat-mincer
that’s curdling in my gut.


~ by David Heslin on 07/09/2011.

One Response to “Meat”

  1. Lucid moments while eating a pie. I’m still an omnivore, surprisingly enough.

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