Mutton Chop

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?

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