We Still Sometimes Hear Them ~ Sean Wai Keung

Nothing was

pretty

 

about that life.

 

We would wake up to sounds

of live pigs hanging

with holes in necks.

 

We watched the neighbour

collect their warm blood

in pans.

Nothing would be wasted

 

not even words,

all talking superfluous under

the fountain of squeals.

 

We returned to bed

without looking at each other

 

and imagined where we would be

in fifteen years time.

waikeungpoetry

currently lives in Norwich, England. Multiple winner of Farrago Poetry Slam, past Editor of Lunar Poetry magazine and Poetry Weekly magazine as well as co-founder of Unmade Bed.

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