A HOLOCAUST EXPRESS

I drive alongside an 18-wheeler loaded with lambs on their way
to Chuck’s Custom Slaughter in Dixon. Halal slaughter welcome.
The lamb’s melancholy faces protrude from bars in wooden cages,
as if to plead their case as they eye-ball every passing motorist
for one more day of roaming in the bucolic pastures called home.
I’ll never eat another lamb chop.