The Trial

Reader, Consider yourself in court,
So charges against you can be brought.
It's not a joke or game, you see,
Your charged with murder, first degree.

As you prepare your evening meal,
Tell me now how do you feel?
Your piece of steak, did it not bleed?
Tell me now! How do you Plead?

An innocent creature had to die,
So you could have your Chicken Pie.
All neatly wrapped in cellophane,
Do you believe it felt no pain?

Do you believe that Cows and Sheep,
Are very gently put to sleep?
They're only stunned, then hoisted up,
And as they twitch, their throats are cut.

You think they milk the Cow each day,
As she would give milk anyway?
To take her milk, you kill her calf,
If it weren't so sad you'd make me laugh.

The new born calf lifts up his head,
In eighteen months he will be dead.
Look into his big soft eyes,
And know because of you he dies.

As surely as you write the cheque,
You hold the dagger to her neck.
And when they cash the cheque you wrote,
You may as well have slit her throat.

Does the Cow not miss her daughter,
That you lead away to slaughter.
No understanding, emotions reeling,
Do you believe she has no feeling?

Can you say you never knew,
These creatures died because of you?
While you buy meat in the shop,
The slaughtering will never stop.

You paid for fish pulled from the sea,
Why could you not have let it be?
The creature had to suffocate,
So you could put it on your plate.

You saw the sheep play in the field,
You buy Kebab, The lambs get killed.
They were taken away, their cries were muted,
In the slaughter-house they were electrocuted.

You kill the pig, you would not stop,
You had to have your dammed pork chop.
Held in a pen while her children were taken,
Their mother wasn't able to save their bacon.

In the slaughter-house, do you not care,
That animals smell death in the air?
How do they plead? what do they do?
And who pays the Slaughter-house, its you!

How many creatures have you killed,
So you could keep your larder filled?
How many living, breathing things,
Do you have minced up and stored in tins?

By John Peters

(note: replace "Reader" with "Listener" when reading out loud)
and poem to be read with accusing tone)

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© Copyright 2003 John Peters