If I could replace you,
stand in line at the slaughterhouse,
forced forward, kicked and punched,
prodded with a fuelled madness.
A coping schism, psychological detachment,
broken headed worker.
If I could fight at the end - to live,
and fight for those behind me,
panting, wide eyed, terrified.
Senses afire, death ahead.
If I could win this time.
A twist in non-human animal narrative.
And watch the fall of human centric thinking.
If I could open the gates and close
slaughterhouse doors forever.
If I could replace you.
Take every single one of you
from grasp of human yoke,
sickening profit machine,
- I would.
Art © J.H. Dickinson
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