Stopping On The Way To The Slaughterhouse

Hershey Kiss was on his way,
Devout in stance
Trusting eyes comforted by the others
Sure that he was headed somewhere
But not there, surely not there.
After all, he had a flair,
Although the others weren't aware
They were mighty,
Powerful yet powerless
To where they were heading,
Loin to loin, barely able to move
Aching legs spent, ready for a rest,
Now pleasing no one.
Hershey Kiss never knew that life of the others
He was of them but different.
They left him alone.
The truck stopped, a ruckus on the road
An arm waving furiously from a car window.
They were all slightly interested.
A woman, a voice he liked. Soothing.
He was nervous, after all.
All of them were. Muscles taut
Shining to a glisten under a cicada sun.
He was too short to see them talking. But, he heard them.
The tailgate opened, a great creaking that frightened him.
The others didn't seem to mind. They were eating.
The man pulled the rope around his neck
Hershey Kiss flinched, a searing twist toward the tailgate
His steps down the ramp tentative,
Frightened to leave, unkindness kept him moving,
Away from the others, toward her.
For she was there, the gentle voice.
She took off the rope and he followed her.