When I’m hungry, I love to stroll past the campus barnyard and visit the colorful, caged characters who live, like me...
When I’m hungry, I love to stroll past
the campus barnyard and visit the colorful,
caged characters who live, like me,
in their wired worlds. Roosters strut
and crow, turkeys spread their feathers
in fans of red and black, and the pigs
sleep like pink parabolas of Bermuda sand.
My hunger makes me imagine the carnage
required to slaughter all this beauty into food-
the hatchet’s quick crunch on a turkey’s neck,
the racket of flapping wings, torrents
of gushing blood, a bullet fired into
a pig’s brain, butcher knife slippery
with fat and entrails, my arms red
to the shoulders. And I understand this is
the violence my students endure on home-
boy streets, where guns and blades are flashed
to nourish fear and power, weapons drawn
in the preen and strut that leaves no doubt
about who is predator and who is prey.