Surgeons At 11am

Here come the butchers,
Doing their rounds,
Checking this and that.
Is there enough skin in the freezer?

I don't know how they do it?
Their minds must have been raped at an early age.
Have they no imagination,
These carvers of flesh.

by Alexa Greenwood

Other poems of GREENWOOD (6)

Comments (1)

yeah, they sort of walk around like robots trying to perfect the human condition.. interesting subject for a poem..well done