Riding the Bus

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.

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