Cafe Of Dreams

welcome to the cafe
the cafe of dreams
the cattle stand dry
dry of mouth parched

awaiting their slaughter
so that a tired worker
may enjoy a good steak
meat pie or sausages

ground meat salt herbs spices
fried lovingly in your frying pan
not young mince meat dying
politic rhetoric in Afghanistan

slaugherhouse cafe is open
not only for teenagers who
dine 'Café des Abbatoirs'
die daily like passing cattle

poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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