Think wooden boards short of charcuterie
Or charcuterie short of wooden boards.
As we present you
The trophies of the victors.
Eugenics; flocked and herded
Carefully curated cuts
Odour stinging the olfactory
Coma-inducing, carefully cherishing
Primal prime plasma
Coating succulent flesh
Midsummer's Day?
More like Kristallnacht
Dressed to the nines
Boas of thyme, rosemary, the like
Masking putrid flesh
Madonna of their kind
Let them rest amidst manna
Around the lofty by-products
Of the Western Fields
Osiris looked on solemnly
Distil their blood
And purge them of their insides
Love the sweet, sweet irony
Laws curated around our heinous sins
For we are the victors,
Our words cardinal.
Yet we rouse into an uproar, when we
Are subjugated after subjugating for aeons.
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