Whenever I ring the bell,
a man uses a dull knife
to carve a pound of flesh
from another man.

The knife-wielder then offers me
the bloody spoils,
and I reward him
with a small coin.

I find myself ringing the bell often -- scores of times each day.

As for this poor soul
being sliced
and disseminated...
Well, that's too bad, I suppose.
But my dealing is with the knife-wielder,
and whatever arrangements
he makes
to secure his inventory
is not my concern.

Am I
my brother's keeper?