Ovis aries: A-poem

CW: animal death

Consider the artless sheep
who cannot articulate its worth —
abased, affronted, abused, afflicted
five abreast —
we should be ashamed of the atrocity
of abbatoirs, and not just for their abhorrent
arôme de mort
like the worst septic tank gone agley

Our perception’s awry
when it comes to the more-than-human,
seeing it as less

I used to hold my breath
avoid aspiring
through West Gosford’s killing fields
with their audible fear —
would rather asphyxiate
or be anosmic
than face that asafoetida

They’ve moved the abattoir to Woy Woy
near the landfill —
out of sight
out of smell
but not atoned

The romance of spring lambs!
prancing in daffodils!
fat by autumn, assets
ready for abbatage —
reduced to anatomy
colonised by cuts