We employ executioners

The slaughterhouse
The Death Camps
From farm to death
And we
The choosers
To be meat eaters
This we seldom see
Or think about their end game
A gentle creature
Driven
Beaten having a tail twisted
Does he end up in Heaven
And if he does what of those who drove him
To his death
What of us consuming
Stealing away his breath
We abuse him for his leather
A new coat possibly
A pair of shoes for Winter
He died tragically

Look at him so innocent
What had he done wrong
Born to chew the cud all day
Hear the sweet bird song
Labour in the sunshine
Or tied up to a post
Trucked off to the death camp
Soon your Sunday Roast

I hope to god
Your tummy Rumbles
And your digestion creaks
Remember him
As you swallow
And evacuate
It reaks

Death itself
The stench you leave
Behind
Great carnivore
There was no need to murder him
That much I am sure.