The Butcher’s Apprentice, 1911–1914

The high white collar and the bowler hat,

The black coat of respectability,

The starched cuff and the brandished cigarette

Are what he has decided we will see,

Though in the closet hangs an apron flecked

With bits of  brain beside the rubber boots

Stained brown from wading through the bloody slick

That by the end of every workday coats

The killing floor he stands on. He declines

To illustrate as in a children’s book

The work he does, although it will define

Him every time the photograph he took

Is shown and captioned for posterity —

Even as his proud eyes and carriage say

That what he is is not what he would be,

In a just world where no one had to slay.