We call it pork when its on the fork

We call it Pork
when its on the fork
but its PIG
when its in the sty
or the factory farm
where life’s,far from calm
and the pig knows it
will die

having had its testicles torn off
by unskilled labourers who
then docked its tail with a
big thumb nail
its what farm labourers do
we know that its intelligence
is a child of 3 or 4
we know that when we
get it, outside the slaughter door

we hear it sort of whimpering.
snorting, crying out
this is something most ignore
or even shout about
the cries for the pig
which is now pork
are unlikely, to be
thought about its
quickly hung on a chain
for few to see

kicking, writhing, forcefully
its throat cut, watch it
bleed
and let death take its
course
for that’s where
it will lead
eyes a rolling
mouth a frothing
legs a kicking out
finish it off in the
scalding tanks
that’s what its about

Hear that awesome sizzle
as the boiling water cooks
the frantic gasps of agony
you will not read this
in books
but its dead
we’ve gone and killed it
lets now think up a way
and let
the public know it’s tasty pork
for them today
like me, of course they’ll soon forget
that this pork was once a pig
so its get the plastic TV chefs
and their rigmarole to rig
sell the pork and crackling
its real good for the trade
smell that rich aroma
of the roasting flesh brigade