A lamb is tied to the top of a bus,
bleats into the wind
in terror. Guinea pigs squeal
in a wire cage, saved
For special occasions, a delicacy.
And we have tried them, curled
crispy on a plate, claws and all.
Men with sticks prod screaming pigs,
Piled into the bed of a pickup truck.
I take a picture, a man turns,
sticks his tongue out at me.
A woman holds a pink-eyed rabbit,
Swings it by the ears. Another
woman walks toward us,
lifts her shirt, shows us
the place where a nipple
Should be, instead a gash, red
as a plum. She holds out her hand,
opens her mouth without sound.
We walk past, no longer looking.