Old MacDonald: A Ruthless Visionary

by Paul Burgess

When rustic Old MacDonald had a farm, 

the city people thought it was so cute. 

They praised the place’s humble rural charm 

and loved to hear the farmer play the flute 

for animals to join in song and dance 

to jolly jingles Mac had loved to make.

The tourists often left with catchy chants 

and bags of liver, chitlins, ham, and steak. 

But other tourists only left in sacks 

containing cuts of Farmer’s Famous Meats.

The song of human flesh against the axe

was paired with bovine moos and ovine bleats.

He needed meat to sell but wouldn’t kill 

the animals he loved as son and daughter, 

and after all, he’d helped them hone their skill 

as artists meant for song and not for slaughter. 

So, Old MacDonald made a business plan

to lure the city folks to tour his place

and either end up butchered girl and man 

or join his swiftly growing client base. 

For many beasts that farmers tend to keep, 

MacDonald’s now a nearly sacred name.

A mix of Bolivar and Meryl Streep,

he’s got a leader’s praise and artist’s fame.

Though others think it was a little wrong 

to make a brutal business out of art, 

they’d rather sing a furry siren song 

than sit in silence at a butcher’s mart.