The Butcher
By Buzby
When we still had feet and inches And pounds to weigh our meat I was always fascinated by the butcher down our street He wore a stripy apron and his belly was quite big; and displayed in his shop window - the head from some poor pig! He always seemed so jolly with his cleaver in his hand, blood stains on his front, and yet he’d always time to stand and chat to mum for hours while I shuffled my bored feet through the sawdust on the floor that would soak the blood from meat. Then just before we left the shop to go upon our way, he would ruffle my short brown hair and loudly he would say; “Now then, tell me little lady what do you want to be when you’re big and all grown up - a butcher just like me?” And I remember saying “No Sir, I won’t eat meat animals are there for loving not for us to eat. I’d much rather be a grocer or a baker like me dad, but I will not be a butcher killing animals is bad.” Then he and mum would chuckle it made them laugh you see; despite my fancy talk, I’d asked for sausages for tea! Written February 7th, 2002 © on Feb 07 2002 03:12 AM PST 0 • 14
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"When we still had feet and inches..."