Just a Butcher (or 'The Existentialist Butcher')

A butcher with ontological insecurities

Am I just a Butcher,

just a clutcher of the hook ?

A carver of cadavers

for the larders of a cook?

 

Is meting out the meat to eat

my meaning in this life?

From gutting, mincing mutton

to the cleaning of this knife?

 

As I leave my cleaver

and achievement rides the wake, 

will I fill my will with

merely offal or with steak?

 

And when I'm sent to Heaven

will the cows crowd round to low,

their beef with homo teeth

and how this hangman helped them so?

 

Again, when I'm in Heaven

will the sheep with zeal then bleat

of my hand in legs of lamb, then,

'cos my lot was dealing meat?

 

Am I just a Butcher

just to butch a piece of flesh?

Or am I as a lamb is

and confined behind a mesh?