I am a work of art,
a Mesozoic frieze.
Come in and take a look.
I’m here for you, so please
make yourself at home
inside my spacious hall,
feel free to wander round –
I’ll watch you from the wall.
My bones have turned to stones;
now held by chains and beams,
each silently replays
my fixed, eternal screams.
I used to tyrannise
all that my eyes could see.
You won’t appreciate
this hell until you’re me.
My people were like yours
spread out across the earth
the apex predators,
set on the throne at birth.
Although we are long dead,
our children live with you,
they live in every land,
on farms, in cities too.
But you are not their friends;
you wring their scrawny necks,
and feast upon their flesh:
you’re homo sapiens rex.
They are a pleasant prey,
convenient as a snack –
just fatten up the chest,
the wings, the legs, the back.
You chop, you slice, you dice,
you grill, you roast, you fry,
you bake, you baste, you boil,
you put them in a pie.
Next time you dine on them,
I hope you’ll think of me
and what I have become –
my fate is yours; you’ll see.
Your own descendants will
be on a menu too,
and you’ll hang on a wall –
a twisted déjà vu.
