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| The Butcher (revised) | |
| By francoise | ||||||||||||||
| 11 February 2008 | ||||||||||||||
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This was inspired by a visit to the butchers, so the title isn't very original! I'm terrible at coming up with interesting ones. To me he could be a painter, since his hands are coloured red, And their prints leave ritual marks all over his white coat. When he pins down his muse, a tentative creativity rises. The practical part begins. Like a surgeon which he could be Inspects the mass of red matter, Fingers eager for a spectacular incision. Before cutting it like a cook as though it were a plate of butter Laid out into a collage of pink. A boneless work of art. I watch him as I wait, until under the fluorescent light and the cool glass and the hum of a man working, A hand reaches out for the heart.
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