Butcher

 

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Butcher

7: 30 in the morning, at the corner of Main and King Edward, a butcher in a white coat stands looking out from behind the empty meat trays in the window of the Windsor Packing Company. Back in the fridge, somnolent sausages, blood red sirloin, and thick pink pork chops (each with a trim icing of fat) wait patiently for their return to the public eye…

January wind
Order your Christmas turkey!
Now! The sign urges.

…in response to the dVerse prompt to write a  morning-related halibun.

14 thoughts on “Butcher

  1. Grace

    A different perspective, I like it. Thanks for sharing the butcher’s morning.

    Would also be great if you can visit and comment on other’s poems. Have a good weekend.

    Like

    Reply

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