Eye to Eye: Let My Critters Go!

A farm animal's eyes? No, an individual's! Like my daughter's:
intelligent, bright, hopeful, trusting. their own. There, on my
father's plate, lies the dismembered body parts of brothers and
sisters, eyes carefully nowhere near. The underlying Speciesism
billboarded as bright as if a flashlight were shown on it, product of
rape, theft, murder, slavery, families broken apart, processed into
unrecognizable, plant-infused euphemism. Frequently brought to
traverse and constipate yet another disease of excess tract, despite
daily second chances to live. Unnecessary, senseless, broken trust,
dark places of suffering. can America rise above? Humane, to
slaughter for someone's profit or pleasure? As my father's middle
expands, my mother shrinks in, shoulders hunched, his accomplice in
crime despite her personal vegan strivings, never allowing herself
the right to say No, as long as he orders, "I want it!" I do not
applaud his path to death, as my siblings do, ever promoting,
partaking of blood and cruelty, prayer for God's blessings of these
acts because they cannot, in good conscience, give their own. "Jesus
ate meat" and "Don't break the peace!" the holocaust-makers accuse,
but vegans know it's because we tear down the slaughterhouse walls,
because we plead for peace where karma is told to keep racking up
tabs for another day, that some poor soul is spared. Head down and
away: "Let's not ruin our meal." He is at death's door--ears plugged,
obese, pale, watery skin drying thinly, loosely, white/grey whiskers,
dark circles, but none of this matters, as long as he has "his"
steak, genetically-induced hen's periods, and mammary secretions of
tears, pus, and blood, made for someone's baby who never got his.

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