BEEF IS THE ANSWER

You may be wondering where lies truth:
the noise you hear upon your roof
is not hail, but a cattle hoof.

A cow has tried to cross the moon
but found out painfully and soon
that such attempts all lead to ruin. 

Mad cow – yes – a dread disease;
nothing to put the bull at ease
naught to strengthen failing knees. 

Yet in life’s existential puzzle
when Hunter red you choose to guzzle
and eat his flesh and gravy suzzle. 

Just gobble up and don’t feel down:
don’t let his footprint make you frown;
his methane’s hot, it has been shown.

But beef’s the answer, of that I’m sure:
to keep in place the global poor –
enhance the rich a little more.

THE PERMATEMP CUBE CAMP

 

 

'This is where I work,' he said,
waving an arm in a circle of sad
as though he’d just missed the bus.
'All these cubicles with their little pictures

and could-be contents
of my wife's handbag –
photos of kids and grandkids,
trinkets and confectionery,
lovers and Lotto tickets.

 

'I know a few workers by name,
but lots come from other countries
and only half drink coffee.
The young woman who sits here
had breast cancer
last year and two kids:
so we sent flowers
for her chemo.’ 

'And friends?' I asked,
'Friends?' he smiled, surprised.
'No: this is just the place
where each day
we all concentrate till five.’