Call It What You Will

As they pack the truck  
full of  
blondes  
with green eyes  
and an estimated  
birth age of less  
than 10 years old  
 
Pack them like  
upright sheep;  
(They fit more in the truck that way)  
squashed against  
each other  
The covered ones  
have no fabric  
left  
in the ripped  
make shift clothing  
 
Then  
the old  
grey  
disgusting  
fuck of a man  
whistles  
 
The engine starts  
In the noise  
the sounds  
of gates clanging shut  
locks being  
shackled  
A scream  
A whimper  
A God Damn cry  
 
The next whistle  
from the suite  
with a fucking cigar  
hanging from the side  
of his Cheshire smile  
 
God alone knows  
where that fucking truck  
is headed  
 
But the suit  
is counting cash  
and  
calling for brunettes  
 
At least the fucking abattoir  
knows  
where  
the sheep go  
 
 
 
 
Entry 4  
Letters to Society, God    
& The Goddess    
GloPoWriMo 2018    
April 4th