By Jack Andrew Cribb

I once saw an infant ripped
from his startled mother,
a syllable from a phrase no longer cared for,
only useful to a select few of a different language,
scribes of the flesh,
spawned from a canine fantasy,
where wolves become gods in a land of plenty
where we all starve,

In the north of England,
a man sits in a warm room alone.
He has a hunger for touch,
simple skin on skin is all he needs,
he doesn’t know this
as he knocks back cans of lager,
but he is weak,
fragile as a mountain flower clinging
to the cracks in a rock high in the alps,
preyed upon by the cold,
swimming deep in loneliness,
drowning in it.

He pushes half-touched sirloin around a plate,
drenched in gravy,
poured over cold potatoes.
Spat-out gristle and cut-off fat sit
on the edge of the porcelain,
they look like tumours
congealing around his disregarded emotion,
little bundles of tasteless cells,
decaying in a heap.

A mother cries into the mud,
broken by a land of tears
and wasted milk.
It is a moment which begs contemplation,
a moment, however small and insignificant to some,
a moment of machinery creeping into the fields,
of forests burnt at the stake,
of smoke so black it is blue,
of mist slowly rising out of the depths of your eyes,
unnatural and yet commonplace.
A man sits in a warm room alone,
chewing on the fat.
Little does he realise,
grief sounds the same in every language.


One thought on “Meat

  1. […] So in regards to my voice, my writing voice, my topics of choice, my ol’ ball and chain, I chose a while back to focus the majority of my work on the combination of these two topics. I want to look at the relationship between masculinity and environmentalism, between the stereotypical masculine ego and the ecologies of the world. I think it’s very interesting to look at the interaction between the two. A masculine psychology meets a living god. It’s a good tagline for a movie. I want to write in my poetry (and other work) on the challenges that arise when the two ideologies meet. I want a marriage of arts and science. (For a bit of an example, check out this poem I wrote called ‘Meat’ here.) […]


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s