At the Butcher's—Jennifer May

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At the Butcher’s

by Jennifer May

We slaughter quickly, always have, take pride
in it, in this shop—this shop was my dad’s,
and his before him, family business. Lads
will take it when I’m old and tired. My side

have always sold the best in town. Here’s how
you do it—speak in soft tones, lay him on
his side, then stretch his neck like this—he’ll calm—
just slide his ears—there—masks the eyes. There, now,

now you can hold him, he won’t move. As I
was saying, we go quick, don’t want him scared
or struggling—why’d you ask, if you don’t mind?
Well, no, we’d never hurt them, we all care.
With thorns, you say? I never—fists, and whips,
and nails, and spears? Who’d do that to a lamb?

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Jennifer May has provided community hospitality for refugees in Vancouver, Canada and taught English in Leon, Mexico, has worked in medical billing in Memphis, Tennessee, and has served as volunteer wood-chopper and cook in Southborough, Massachusetts. She is an amateur poet—she writes for the love of it. She can be found at her fledgling substack: substack.com/@goodjen.