Tuesday, January 8, 2008

don't take your kids to the slaughterhouse

When you are young,
You don’t know where the meat comes from.
It falls on your plate
From a pot your mom has been crocking in.

The salty ham.
The tender roast.
It is all as innocent
As a can of corn.

Somewhere along the line
Someone will say something
And washed hands
will stay dirty:

And the grime will add,
And redemption will be separated
From tender skin,
By the grime of everyday life.

There is so much blood
And there is so much sin
In the minds of the holy
(Among whom I do not count myself)

And it weighs on a mind,
And a person doesn’t feel at ease
To just sit
At the end of a long day.

Why not put that off a little while,
And let a kid eat a hot dog at a baseball game?
Riding on their daddy’s shoulders
All the way home.

I wrote this poem after listening to a woman I had met at a party talk about making her five-year-old watch PETA's 'Meet Your Meat' video. I have no problem with the aspect of the animal rights organizations that seek to promote humane treatment of animals, and I think it is perfectly reasonable and even noble to protest and document such bad treatment. But making a five year old watch the terrible stuff in 'Meet Your Meat' seems a bit much. Isn't there a level between 'Blues Clues' and 'The Passion Of the Christ'?

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