Crocodile Tears

I feel so bad when looking at the goats
Outside the butcher shop struggle against
The ropes they’re tied onto. So tight it bites.
I watch them strain their necks to reach the leaves
Hung up too high. A thoughtless cruelty
Not worth comparison to what’s to come.
I feel a fool. I do. Of course, I do.
A hypocrite, more like. I eat meat too.
In fact, I’m here for that. I turn away.
My girl asks me if something’s wrong. I nod
And point towards the goats. They’re suffering,
I say. She gives a knowing smile, replies,
Don’t worry. Their suffering will end soon.




Poetry by Sameen The PoetBay support member heart!
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Written on 2026-06-08 at 06:53

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mickeko The PoetBay support member heart!
Some lives
are disposable.
I always apologize
even to flies I swat.
To the joy of those around me,
but not for it.
It is a post mortem
as they can't hear me.
Being dead does that, right?
​It helps me remember
how fragile we are.
2026-06-08


arquious The PoetBay support member heart!
As will ours in the greater scheme of things.
What leaves do we reach for while mortgages and dysfunctional relationships garrotte our necks? Laurels? Mint? Tobacco?
We make the most of it for the knife is sharpened on the butcher's block. Nice one, S!
2026-06-08