Why a Cannibal Won’t Eat Me (I Hope)

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)