i am following a farm truck loaded with pigs
on their way to market
they squeal and shove and groan and grunt
the smell appalling
as a signal turns red i keep my distance
the windows rolled up
but it’s too late they’re shitting and pissing
a captive audience am i
and for some of them as well staring out
i am their last sight
of the perceived freedom that is never real
the endless feast aborted
the truck and i both signal right at the next light
the traffic is stalled
steeped in the fetid scent of life to death
the truck leans, dangerous
the pigs roll left and scream their wordless plight
the truck is righted again
the abattoir is now in sight white and sterile
soundless and scentless
i drive on but the pigs are on their last ride
do they suspect the fate
a smell of doom wafts past their snouts
do they know
jeg.
12/18
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