flesh in white sauce

i was disturbed by a fly
in the course of my meal
it thought it a pool,what was really my dish
perhaps because floating in it were small dead fish

the spectators gasp on a deathly blow
the beast radiates a deathly glow
the matador fumbles on a graceful bow
the chefs special is a cow

the toast of a morning is on both sides buttered
the rose and the carnations even in monsoons are watered
weve been thinking a lot but weve never really bothered
did the goat think before it was slaughtered

i'll sit down to lunch in some time from now
to white linen,silver cutlery,delicate china and how
for universal peace it is a white dove
but for me,its a chicken i love