Graphic: "Meat Boy," by Deborah Randall

Meat Packing Amy MacLennan Don’t stop to wipe the gore from your face, just move to the next set of cuts. Try to keep the keen on your blade, it’s got to be sharp to slice through the beef without any drag on your bones, your flesh. With four thousand head a day, the grab and trim becomes your world, the fat on the floor, you step through the grume, it splashes your boots. But don’t look down, watch the knife, the hilt in your hand, it might stick then fly and you’re packed in close. As the belt speeds up, check your metal apron, cinch it tight, seven pounds of mail all that protects your belly and back. Hide the small wounds, ten stitches or less, the boss won’t look, he’s got numbers to make. Remember the speed of the line, think only of steel and meat.

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