Where the devil is a butcher
in a white apron
smeared with red.
I am a bloody slab
hanging on a hook.
“You tell anyone, I’ll
kill you,” he whispered,
and my terror cleaved me in two,
my body
on its hands and knees
in that cold with the butcher,
my mind a white balloon.
Latest posts by Leah Johnson (see all)
- Meat Locker - June 25, 2015