Flesh
Rosie Cuckston
I saw a man skin a rabbit
Blood on the lino, guts in the cat
Beating the eyes out of fishes
Cutting their spines out with a knife
And all my cupboards are full of flesh
Brains and gizzards pickled in jars
And now my house smells of death
Hung up the hooks and knives of the hunters
He had two lines down in the lake
Brought my mother stolen trout
He hit a pheasant with his right tyre
Brought it home for Sunday lunch