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
Sep 2, 2019
Sep 2, 2019 at 6:56 AM UTC
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.
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