I remember that merciful boot that crushed the broken bird who struck the hospital window.
I remember those hunched shoulders overlooking the dead chicken, beheaded with a shovel.
A human life exists to bear witness to the death and life in the universe.
Our life is paid with the lives of countless lesser things.
We are stalactites, carefully formed from the suffering of each cow turned hamburger.
Each insect crushed underfoot.
Each mouse ground up with the grain.
Our monuments are graves.
Cities are cemeteries.
Windows are walls.
We eat with our eyes and brains as much as our stomachs and teeth.
Vegans clamber over carnivores like rats in a flood for the moral high ground.
All the same, both are doomed to drown.
When I see a boot and a shovel,
I see our place and our fate,
in the universe.