I won’t be the
Thinly sliced
On thinly sliced fresh bread
A cannibal serves
For afternoon tea
(with a choice of white or red)
To cannibal friends while they debate
How pleasant is me cuisine
As my liver is served with chianti
And a side of fava bean
And I won’t be a Sunday roast
The meat served with roast spuds
Two veg and roast me gravy
And homemade Yorkshire puds
While my remains
Are freezer packed
For a cannibal’s midweek lunch
Or bubble and squeaked in belly fat
For a cannibal’s weekend brunch
And I won’t be the human
Compassionate cannibal slain
Bled then hung
By a leg
A death they claim humane
As I won’t be
The butchered meat
In a cannibal recipe
As you are what you eat
And that is why
A cannibal won’t eat me (I hope)