5 finger averages

Over soon to be cadavers
the meat inspector stepped,
counted their fingers
on his black clipboard and checked
for shortcomings
to decide
the faith of the meat.
He explained loud to himself
that 6 finger boys
are tastier
than 4 finger guys.
3 finger people
were not in demand today
and only the 5-finger average
should feel pity for them
to not get confused
with these pesky 4 finger guys.
Only the 2-finger people
don’t have to.
Worse enough off
to be excluded by the duty
to feel pity.
The 6 finger boys
had one finger spare
to pick their nose
and the 7 fingers say
it is okay to be 1 finger less.
8 and 9 fingers
didn’t gave a shit
8 and 9 fingers
superiors
were glad
that they didn’t possess only 1 finger.
They wouldn’t say it out loud
though
just appeasing by saying
they are lucky
and they probably are.
Nobody needs to have 10.
10 finger humans are
a rare occasion.
A fable for the unintroduced
in their 10-finger social circle.
You don’t meet them in the pits
of a slaughterhouse
They don’t live in cages
spend their days behind bars.
Now the inspector
gets closer to me
to inspect my flaws
for my consumers.
Mincing machine is my verdict.
Served as an in-between meal
Bland hors d’oeuvre
at high society parties
as a treat for the famous
and thrown away after a taste.
I want to see the lights on the rooftops
before I die here
in the pits
The inspector nodded satisfied
as he turned off the light
and wrapped the enclosures in night
In the darkness
every living cadaver
cry’s over the sum of their fingers
and compares them
like little children
in an effective sound collaboration
that drowns out the question
why and for whom
we even get slaughtered here.

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