The Apocalyptic Vision of a Beast Put Out to Pasture

by Tony Osgood, UK

The dispossessed came to live beside us, naturally,
in cities and towns, on shores, on hills, 
above bowling alleys and in cheap apartment blocks 
that congealed into ghettos.
Some preferred to live rough, unused to civilised ways,
dabbling in drugs, beating cops, buzzing bright taxicabs for gas.
Many of the awakened preferred to hunt old masters beneath a darkened sky.
Either way, each night fresh news of gang fight and beating, crime and skinning. 
Like animals?
One notorious gang of kangaroos 
would patrol back-streets in cheap Japanese Jeeps
shooting Aussie tourists for fun
no harm done.
Some liberated cattle held grudges, taking out contracts
on ex-dairy farmers and fast-food executives, double whopper had a farm.
Some kept human women hidden dark, drugged and caged,
duped into lactating all year round.
And the cute seal pups clubbing human kids –
the blood of innocents running like a river 
along filthy gutters while half alive the babes were decorticated
before the eyes of screaming fathers.
Sad down and outs were culled three times each year by eco-minded reindeer.
Bright-suited dung beetles, wide-eyed off the banana boats were sold crack and porn 
by street wise ‘roaches. 
City avian flocks swooped from tall office blocks capturing wealthy couples –
force fed them for a few months then cut out their livers to make pâté.
Fashionable restaurants run by veal calves sold young girls sushi style 
and milk fed boys at inflated prices.
Some made a killing.
When evolution raised up the animals did the old masters expect gratitude?
Did they hope we would not to use our hard-learned skills
of camouflage, of combat, of guerrilla tactics to salve sour memories?
As for research labs –
what was it you once said? 
out of sight, out of mind? 
We kept schtum.
Another type of bullet to be tested, another blusher to be sold, another nail in your coffin.
But I won’t judge, cast stones, condemn,
being just a sacred cow.
Though allow me one brief snigger –
a moment of dark humour,
to be forever surprised
that even through the cries
of human lamentation
so very few recalled
inevitable Karma the Clown.

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