Knackery
The beast is lowing at the abattoir door, plump
and ready for the stun-gun, the stagger, slump,
the bullet behind the ear. Hooves are lopped, stumps
shorn of meat, ribs cracked open. A Latino with a pump
sucks up the entrails of America, glistening in the sump.
All is rendered to an acceptable carcass, fit to be dumped
while in the tower, waiters serve prime cuts. Diners thump
the tables, call for sweetbreads, offal, the head, the rump.
Andy Jackson is author of several collections of poetry including most recently A Beginner’s Guide To Cheating (Red Squirrel Press, 2015). He is editor of several poetry anthologies in print and online formats, including (along with co-conspirator Bill Herbert) this New Boots and Pantisocracies blog .
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