On Killing Chicks for Study
There's that in me which has to look at death
when I
have been accomplice to limp necks
that
dangle, the still warm bodies no breath
will
ever stir again. A life that ends
is
unnatural. The argument: that
they
were unintelligent. Quite true. But—
does
one measure right to live by I.Q.?
Is
pain easier for the stupid? No.
What
reason then? To teach us—sacrifice
on the
alter of science, mistake here
forgiven
quicker than on some other
table.
We are able to make jokes. This
sickens
me. Downy, dumb, and innocent
they've
already given what I cannot make.