I only ate one slice of bacon,
just some gristle and some fat,
but my vegan friends went crazy,
asking how could I do that.
Acted like I’d stripped a forest,
killed Babe, eaten Bambi’s mom,
like I’d torn off Dumbo’s ears
or dropped a raw hamburger bomb.
It was just a momentary lapse,
I hastened to explain.
But that pork inside my stomach
really seemed to give them pain.
There’s no calming hard-line vegans
once you have ingested meat.
Might as well take this thing further,
walk ’em down carnivore street.
Told them I was really sorry,
their forgiveness I would beg.
It’s a good thing, then I mumbled,
that they hadn’t seen the egg.
And tonight, said, for my supper,
I was planning one great meal:
frogs’ legs all done up in butter,
chicken liver and some veal.
Now my vegan friends are wary.
When I pass, they all look south.
I imagine I look scary
with blood dripping from my mouth.
