An apology

by CD Richards

I can hear the mothers' anguished calls,
responding to the mournful cries
of the children they will never see again.

I can smell the rotting flesh
on which the blowflies feed
in the blistering sun...
the carcases of those suffocated or crushed
before they reached their destination.

I can remember the feel
of what used to be someone's skin
as, in the summer heat,
it would stick to my own,
while I watched
a nature documentary on TV.

I can recall the taste of warm blood,
and find it hard to believe
I used to relish it,
like some ghoulish vampire.

I can see the cattle grazing
on the green grass of the field next door.
None of them will survive
more than a couple of years
of the decades nature intended for them.

Short years, full of misery
unseen and unimagined
by those who first encounter them
shrink-wrapped on foam trays.

I see them, and I want to say,
"I'm sorry".
Sorry that it took me so long to understand.
Sorry that it took me so long to care.

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Conscience can be a bitch

A chapter in the book Miscellaneous Poems

An apology

by CD Richards

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