we rail against the butchers
complain about their blood-soaked
aprons and their knives
designed and dedicated to slicing
muscle from bone
we point our fingers as
they lead the food beasts
lowing and weeping through
dark alleys into the
sulfurous light
of the slaughterhouse
we rail
we point
we sit at our well-appointed tables
and fill our mouths with meat
gravy runs down our chins
gravy is just another word
for blood
we rail
we point
we complain as the butchers
press their thumbs upon the scales
and tip gold in their favor
we rail
we point
we pay extra for the fatty parts
and pray extra that we are not lead
lowing and weeping though
dark alleys into the
sulfurous light
of the slaughterhouse
we rail
we point
we sharpen the knives
Words and Feathers 
Brilliant metaphor
Thank you.
A devastatingly true observation, however poetically you dress it up…
Thanks
Bravo! Especially that last line. so freakin’ sharp!
No pun intended?
I couldn’t resist!
Satire with a rhythm. Love it!
Leather shoes and fur jackets
we nonchalantly slip on –
to look fashionable.
Don’t we look nice!
We rail.
We point.
We sharpen our knives.
We arrive at the soup kitchen
In a limo
We hand out sandwiches
With rings on our fingers
We stand on pulpits –
Demanding respect for women.
Let’s say thank you and please
as we give their butt cheeks a squeeze.
And we give no second (or first, for that matter) thought to talking into, and surfing, on pocket computers assembled by children paid pennies a day.
Yes. There’s that, too.
Loved this poem!
Thank you very much!