The sound of laughter and smiles are muffled
as the sorrowful silence
The crowd, crying out injustices,
is hustled from the barn.
when the placenta covered calf emerges, no newborn whimper or lament is heard.
The veterinarians drape him over the barred metal fence like
a piece of veal at a butcher's shop.
They imply it was a form of CPR
but I believe it was a desperate last attempt.
The glint in his eye dulls,
colorful curtains cast aside
left in the sun too long.
After the death is confirmed he is hastily
thrown into a wheelbarrow.
They assign me to dispose of him.
I swaddle him in a tarp
a blue blanket signaling his gender
but yet his death.
through the tin doors we go,
through the gates of Heaven.
It seems as if gray clouds gather the minute I step outside, the sun gone.
The fair has turned from a lively place
into a somber one in a matter of
"Let it Be" softly croons from the speakers.
Sorrowful faces look on
I approach the 2005 Chevrolet
the men in the back of the truck stop smoking and stare at me through
eyes that have seen much death before.
The men glide off the back off the truck and extinguish their cigarettes.
With a swift move the calf is thrown into the back of the truck.
The crowd gasps
But the men are not phased.
The men at Heaven's door.
A blanket is messily thrown upon him so I
clamber into the back and fix the calf so it looks as if he were in a
The exhaust of the men's departur