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  • Sharing Caring

    Sorry. There must be a billion nicer stories after a tease like that.

    A Piglet on a Factory Farm

    A piglet on a factory farm
    lives in awful fear;
    nothing keeps him safe from harm
    without his mother near.

    She might hear him call for her
    but he can’t find her face…
    there used to be a stall for her
    in this awful place.

    When he’s hurt and crying—
    tired, sick or sad;
    it’s all so terrifying…
    he wasn’t even bad!

    Nor were all the others,
    but they’re still crying, too—
    looking for their mothers,
    somewhere in a queue.

    And in the din—always loud—
    without a bug or bird;
    a piglet never dreams a cloud,
    but struggles to be heard.

    Elsewhere—through a factory door—
    a mother’s herded down
    to where her blood runs through the floor—
    disposed as waste in town;

    Then her very body fair
    is sliced and sawn to chops,
    which makes a little business share
    for those who run the shop.

    And all the piglets wait and see
    what befalls them next—
    everyone in misery,
    every piglet vexed,

    somehow knowing dreams are real—
    existing for the free,
    while hearing all the piglets’ squeals
    portending what will be.

    Now grown fat from waiting…
    such suffering to bear,
    learning only hating
    and losing every care,

    in time they’re muddled fully dull
    by drugs and processed food—
    their noble being rendered null,
    until they’re fried or stewed…

    until each one is herded down
    —and through the factory door—
    to where the bloody floor turns brown,
    and piglets are no more.

    Last edited by John P. Turner; 04-18-2021, 06:58 AM.

  • #2


    • #3
      There's always another story...but the original title did lead me in a different direction.