I had a horse when I
was young
I rode her through the
fields all day.
She'd lick me with her
cardboard tongue
Then whinny, gallop,
jump, and neigh.
Her hooves stomped all
the field mice,
She was murderous when
she ate
But little did I know
she would meet a worsened fate.
My childish horse is
burger meat.
I rode her as a treat
And yet, if I'm
honest,
I would have eaten her
myself given half the chance.
I got horse-hungry
sometimes when I was fully famished.
She would have filled
me nicely but instead she was ravished
By a meat processing
plant. She hated cows
But now shares a small
plate with one. My only friend
Of childhood has met a
bitter end.
If, that is, she was
not cooked right.
If roasted true she
could be a delight,
I'm told the beast is
healthier than beef.
It must be something
in their diet
Which can spur jockeys
to riot
That those animals,
with such fine teeth,
No more shall race:
It's such a waste
Of talent. Yet no more
Shall Clover pace the
fields
As underfoot the
grass, he yields,
And trembles at her
power.
Instead, cloven-hoofed
Clover is raced along a treadmill
Without her agency
intact.
Instead, Clover has
been removed of will:
Nostrils deflared,
those eyes could kill,
Her organs stretching
out your meal.
Now that's a fact that
could make you boke
If you feel
That I have taken this
joke
Too far. But the last
one past the post
Can't make the boast
To be anything but
food to us now.
