by Megan Auffart

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Abattoir is now my new favorite vocabulary word. It means 'slaughterhouse' or 'something like a slaughterhouse'. The thing that gets me, though, is that it sounds so pretty. Like a piece of ornate classical furniture or a container to hold incense or something. Not a place of slaughter. But anyways, after learning the word, I wrote this poem. Read and review, please!

Two dead children clung on the sides
Their hands missing
Bloodied stumps tied together with twine
Around the two trees in the yard

Inside there was still the dinner
The bread hardened and covered with ants
Sprawled on the floor was the mother
Skirt pulled up to her bleeding chest
Panties twisted around her neck

I looked closer and then I saw
That her nipples had been sliced
Like the apples she had bought for dessert
One a day
The doctor’s away
The front of her shirt was soaked

I saw these things
And I saw the stairs
And I wondered where they were now
Where they out in the country
Or gone to the city?
Or were they still inside the house?

Two dead children clung on the sides
As I left to make my way home
Just another family slaughtered
Just another day at war