You’re not a Vegan,
and I don’t want to hear
the excuses you have;
the way you wheedle makes me cringe;
and the carnivorous greed,
that fuels your need
sickens me to the core
of my apple.
And, what’s more,
you must surely be aware by now
that you are killing them and yourself
by eating
that pig,
that chicken,
that cow.
“Dreamer!”
“Peanut Butter!”
my T-shirts shout
of my fondest desires;
“Funeral Pyres!”
“Brussels Sprouts!”
rarely – if ever – seen
imposed upon one’s clothing;
“Be Vegan!”
“Go Green!”
are now acceptable in such places
where once such slogans
we’re as popular as fiery dragons,
and life was twice as cheap
as the cows, chickens and sheep
that humans gave in droves
to the hungry lizard,
aflame, aloft,
to keep their little lives
warm, safe, and soft.
Daisy the Cow said,
‘That’s enough now!’
But, only a few that heard her voice,
chose to help her have a choice
that didn’t rely on a farmer.
How many lightbulbs?
How many lightbulbs does it take
to change a way of life?
Vegan Pecan Pie
is never on my menu, –
any idea why?
I borrowed the title
from a poem I saw,
it was called ‘This Poem is,
well, what do you think
it was called, ‘… This Poem is…
About to Explode!’?
(Which title I have now ear-marked for later).
Anyway, what makes this poem,
as oposed to that poem,
(which I am not, oposed to it, I mean)
what makes this poem,
different from that Vegan poem?
And, BTW (by the way)
can I just say here,
that I ask questions,
yet I very rarely answer them.
But, in this case,
the other poem was
a ‘good’ poem,
whereas this one…
is not.
Happy now?
Donald Pleasence
won’t eat pheasants
now he’s dead;
and, when alive, he was a Vegan,
so he ate beans instead –
I may have made that up,
it’s the sort of thing I do,
I’m a writer, and a poet,
and a singer,
‘How d’you do?’
The vegetables
sat at tables,
whilst the fruits
played their flutes;
when over,
the vegetables gave them a round of applause,
and the fruits bowed low.
The evening was a total success,
and there was very little mess –
which was nice to know.
Would you like…
a Butterbean Barley Buddha Bowl?
I’d like to be able to say it.
There’s a lady on the seashore, she sells them.
That figures.
Graeme Sandford 