Abattoir
Elizabeth Schultz
Amidst the unsettled dust,
the smoldering vultures,
acres of goats and cows,
not yet skinned and
slaughtered, but milling
and stirring, seething,
crowds of them pressing
against each other, branded
and staked in this place
without green, where even
the great zebu, his silver
suede cross-hatched by
diverse owners, lowers
his horned head, and only
the small kid, frisky and
cross-eyed, eager for coddling
can’t believe betrayal.
the smoldering vultures,
acres of goats and cows,
not yet skinned and
slaughtered, but milling
and stirring, seething,
crowds of them pressing
against each other, branded
and staked in this place
without green, where even
the great zebu, his silver
suede cross-hatched by
diverse owners, lowers
his horned head, and only
the small kid, frisky and
cross-eyed, eager for coddling
can’t believe betrayal.
Listen to Elizabeth read the poem here:
About the author
Elizabeth Schultz lives in Lawrence, Kansas, following retirement from the English Department of the University of Kansas, where she was Chancellor’s Club Teaching Professor. She remains committed to writing about the people and the places she loves in academic essays, nature essays, and poems. These include Herman Melville, her mother, and her friends, the Kansas wetlands and prairies, Michigan's Higgins Lake, Japan, where she lived for six years, oceans everywhere. She has published several books, and her scholarly and creative work appears in numerous journals and reviews.