One regret for all those farm pigs wiggling their toes one last time on that ride to the market wiggling, wiggling like there's no tomorrow taking in the waning hours thoughts of their sow and babies left behind gasping the last breath of air and life the ride, the death march the winding turns the roar of a diesel engine the small cracks in the crate light filtering in bringing tears to their eyes the saddest eyes ever and the final curtain for somehow they know the fattening destiny's child this piggy went to market was a storybook fable facing all around them the others know, too their hearts beating down when the truck stops sorry not for coffee this time … collectively squeals abound the crates perspiring, thrashing the bounty of life on the dinner table the cruelty of such for no cargo is overturned as the hum of death nears sound of the blades soon rises above the prayers darkness kicks in taking in the ecosystem sadly regretfully as wiggling toes stop
Logan Robertson
9/02/2019
This poem tugs at my heart, for the reality of such, is not made up. The first cavemen had the right idea.