Slices of life,

Laid out on a plate.
Handed to you while you vegetate.
And do you feel some empathy,
As you consume the agony?
Is it hard to swallow?
Do you choke?
On the bomb blast victims, or can you joke?
Can you make a meal of it?
Lighten the load with the spice of wit?
Right all the wrongs in heated debate,
Knowing you'd never hesitate,
To rise to the call, should the hour
Come when the masses unleash their power.
But until then you've got to get on.
It's not your fault it's all gone wrong,
And as you watch the news go by
You eat your dinner, as you sigh,
At the sight of severed limbs,
Howling women and other things.
That should give you nightmares,
But they don't.,
It could get to you
But you won't
Let it bring you down or play on your mind.
Cause you're ‘media-wise’ and your tastes are refined.
So little dead babies don't haunt your dreams,
Not the eyes of the starving, nor watching blood stream,
Across pavements where corpses litter the streets.
It won't bother you because, it's all meat.
To be packaged and processed for the media machine.
So you can devour fresh humans,
And your hands can stay clean.