Farm Boy. Photo Montage by Ruth Zachary.Click on bottom to see enlarged view.
In a Pig’s eye
Heart pounding,
he knew the pig knew.
It screamed before
the knife struck its throat.
The pig knew he was the predator,
having already heard
six brothers bellow their last curse
in rage and terror.
But …
this one looked him in the eye
as its blood soaked the ground.
He was the last sight
in the the dying pig's glare.
He saw his own silhouette
fade slowly in its gaze;
felt his own seventeen year old
innocence disappear, deaden.
Work incomplete,
he used the gun on the last two.
Avoided that last accusing look,
But it was too late to escape
the wound inscribed
in his own breast,
scar etched into memory.
That night he wrote,
"Butchered hogs today.
Stuck 7, shot 2."
Heart pounding,
he knew the pig knew.
It screamed before
the knife struck its throat.
The pig knew he was the predator,
having already heard
six brothers bellow their last curse
in rage and terror.
But …
this one looked him in the eye
as its blood soaked the ground.
He was the last sight
in the the dying pig's glare.
He saw his own silhouette
fade slowly in its gaze;
felt his own seventeen year old
innocence disappear, deaden.
Work incomplete,
he used the gun on the last two.
Avoided that last accusing look,
But it was too late to escape
the wound inscribed
in his own breast,
scar etched into memory.
That night he wrote,
"Butchered hogs today.
Stuck 7, shot 2."
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