They have no wish to
they’re happy in their work.
One I see, fresh out from town,
is slick with soap and
The others rub him on the ears
(it’s all in monochrome)
tousling his hair and joking
men and women both,
the female faces round as plates,
the men more horse-like
in their features.
I’m free, it seems, to walk around.
The slaughter is industrial
and on the other side of sound.
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