Butcher Stories

Hacking bones, I glance askance At Graham in his bloody apron Sawing through a clump of muscle Trimming fat and severing tendons * Oh, those hands! Now gloved and crimson Skillful as a slaughtering surgeon Operations never ending  Always reaping, never sewing * Grisly gristle, loathsome lites are Minced for barbecue delights; I Stuff obscenely swollen skins Hope Graham sees me tease the meat * Yes, meat is murder, this I...