Carl PortenFrom All-Creatures.org




Poetry By Carl Porten



I Did This For You...


Hi my name's Carl.
Iíll be your server.
Just follow me human
weíll go get your dinner.

Follow you!
You bring it here!
Please come with me sir
youíll soon get the idea.

So of to the back room
so we can best serve
the plate that you want
hereís your apron sir.

Aní apron my friend,
why I donít comprehend.
Youíll need it today
aní these gloves for your hands.

Whatís all this then?
I ordered the veal,
Iíve got no time for games son
I just want my meal.

Aní a meal it will be sir,
aní fresher than fresh,
see that calf in the corner
just go slit his neck.

What the fuck is this Carl
I canít take a life!
Why if you want to dine sir
you have to tínight.

I tell yíwhat sir
use the hammer instead.
Just two or three shots sir
rite there on his head.

Why this is preposterous
just go cook my meat.
Sir smash his head open
aní then you can eat.

Go on sir...
What yíwaitiní for?
Just as I reckoned
you canít bare the thought.

Your a hypocrite sir
gimme that knife
you want a meat dinner
but canít take a life.

Thatís all good sir
Ďcause for your delight,
Iíll take the hammer
aní then take the knife.

Just stand rite there sir,
hereís how itís done,
you lift up the hammer
aní smile for fun.

Awwww look.
The poor babies scared,
see the tears in his eyes
oh thatís rite you donít care.

Here we go sir
now watch his head
aní three two one. Stop!
...Iíll have veggies instead!

Oh sir Iím afraid
you canít change your mind,
for you asked for veil
from the freshest supply.

Howís this for your pleasure
sir look at his eyes,
it donít come any fresher
than a meal that just cried.

So whatís it to be,
will it be you or me,
Ďcause the doors stayiní locked sir,
aní yídid order veil.

This is fucked up!
Just open the door...
Please donít kill him Carl
I donít want meat no more.

Imagine this scene
before your next meal,
could you slit their throats
aní hear as they squeal.

Could you take the sledge
an hammer home blows,
to the head of a baby
no more than months old.

Aní watch as his eyes
filled up with tears,
as he tries to escape
from the death you bring nearer.

 

Poetry © 2022 Carl Porten

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