L'aura del Campo

Your little spears [100]

Your little spears

—stabbed the slabs of beef,
tore at meat, as if—
they did not belong in a human mouth,
as if—no one else had teeth.

Descendant of sharks, you told us,
not monkeys like you apes, you scold us.
We just nod and protect our napes,
never turning our back to you.

Each white flash—
each bloody slash—
admonished us.

Reminded us
how much we value our life.

As if—
your little spears could end it.
As if—we were grade A meat—
and you were a butcher.

© Kåre Enga (25.mai.2017) [174.100]