The Meatwagon

Everyone in town knows the meatwagon
Parked in the alley behind the butcher shop
Some days it comes down mainstreet
With a steer split wide open belly up
Hind legs winched up over the cab
Head on the bloody and bowed tailgate
Tongue hanging out to the side

If you happen to walk through the alley
Taking the shortcut to the post office
And the meatwagon is backed up there
A few flies and a smell of tangy fresh blood meet you
With a sickly sweet odor lingering behind
The flies hurry back reluctant to leave 
Their tasty treasure of gore in the box

The old Ford has hauled hundreds
Of dead livestock into town
A daily parade of freshly killed carcasses
Old  hamburger cows and prime steers
Hogs 4 or 5 at a time in a pile of legs
And not so often a  fluff of dirty white wool
Wet underneath with red  blood

The dash of the truck is loaded up with
Rifle shells for the killing and gutting knives
For the sweaty work after that
The butcher strains at the  winch handle
Hands and arms of steel crank 1500 pounds
Of hide and meat and  bones up off the pasture grass
Where the animal was grazing minutes before
 

Then the butcher waves good bye to the farmer
Who stood off to one side watching the proceedings
Both turning their backs on the steaming gut pile
The farmer closing the pasture gate after the meatwagon
And the butcher drinking fresh air from the open window
Drives back to the shop where he’ll skin the critter
Hang it in the cooler and drive to another farm