Compacted, filed
live chicks flung
into the grinder.
32 rows of metal teeth
press soft malleable bodies
to minced meat,
gnashing bones
to powder.
Yellow sausage-maker,
piranhas wait
for the flesh that slips
through clenching teeth.
Pink-veined
blue eyes throb,
Red faces bulge,
hiss and snap
at trapped raw hides.
Glass children with rocks;
don’t move, they’ll see you.
I find a seat where a swastika
has been carved into the leather.
