Kill What You Eat—and Eat What You Kill
While walking in the park, I met
an elder—and we talked.
And what he told me gave me pause—
and later gave me woe .
“Kill, what you eat, yourself, my friend,”
the elder said to me.
“Do not depend on others, who
are slaving, out of sight.
“The food you eat, the clothes you wear,
your trinkets and your toys—
attempt to kill or make yourself,
or know their provenance
“The lights and gadgets in your home
and where you go to work,
the vehicles on which you ride,
the roads on which they run—
“the fuels for these things as well—
are made for you by others
and brought to you by others or
the conduits they have made.
“These actions all rely upon
the slaughters, small and large,
of beasts (and even human ones),
and plants—and things that we
“may think are lifeless, yet have lives,
although of other sorts—
the mountains, plains and valleys and
the oceans, lakes and streams.
“If you would have the hearing, you
would hear their groans and screams.
The air, that we are breathing, too,
has a life that you can feel."
And spreading out his arms, he then
inhaled the city's air
and slowly then exhaled that breath,
let down his arms and smiled.
“This air we’re breathing, you and I,
though often breathed before,
would be as fresh, if not for Man,
as when the plants had risen.”
He said these things—and made me think.
I thought: he must be mad.
And so I said goodbye and left—
but could not sleep at night.
“Kill what you eat,” he’d said, “and eat
whatever you've killed, my friend.”
as he'd gestured 'round at the earth and the sky
and the trees and the works of Man.
Kill what I eat? Oh, how absurd!
And eat what I kill? That’s mad!
I tried to put this out of my head,
but I felt his words return.
And ever since then, I've felt unease
and even unwell at times.
As I'd like you to share in my misery, I
am passing this on in my turn.
2018 December 27?, Thu?day
Brooklyn, New York
