Hip To the Slaughter
when the surroundings of the will
begin to suffocate it &
the hands grasping for some kind of
deus ex machina
slip
slip
slip
like butta’ melting & dripping off the
nooks & crannies,
the temptation to hang up them shoes
(those beautifully unique qualities of the self) &
just buckle down n’ accept the
conditions of the prison cell
may be so great that the
acceptance of all the horror to come
might appear tolerable---
because the “promise” of something better
looms in the air like a fog that never ever goes away &
there are always a good amount of sheep baaaaaaaaa-ing
at the door
hoping & of course, praying
(squinting eyes closed tight, on their little knees),
that all will do the same---
all for a bigger piece of the pie
all for a chance to wrap those lips round the barrel &
just be fine with whatever outcome arises,
to be a great mantelpiece when the prayer group comes over
for cookies
to be a totalitarian wet dream
to be a prison rape in the making
all
hip
to
the
slaughter.
Copyright © Andrew Delapruch | Year Posted 2011
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment