Beef

The cows are engrossed on their mobile phones,
while pretending to be chewing the cud.
It’s against the law to unionise,
but fearing the future for flesh and blood,
they’re mooting a strike, prepared to lock horns
unless mankind accepts a compromise.

Their beef’s the Pastoral Work Agreement,
which places cattle on a par with sheep,
who produce more meat per acre of grass
and threaten to make bovines obsolete.
Can we stomach a wholesale bereavement
in our endeavour to make food more fast?




Poetry by Ray Miller
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Written on 2026-07-15 at 18:27

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Editorial Team The PoetBay support member heart!
Your poem has been chosen to be featured on the home page of PoetBay. Thank you for posting on our poetry website!
2026-07-20


Ray Miller
Thankyou
2026-07-16


Albert Vynckier The PoetBay support member heart!
Glad to read you again !
2026-07-15