Outside a slaughterhouse, seven men sit, lined up–
cross-legged, shoulders touching, watching the city
whizz by in yellow and black. Behind them are goats
crowded into a four by four room. In a few hours,
at the onset of dawn, the people will come for
their meat, for their skin, for their soul. Tonight,
twenty-two pupils stare hollow into the world.
What exactly are we putting up for sale?