A perfectly vegan poem

The llama at the barbershop
Can only see its face,
I clean the floors and dust the shelves
And know my time and place.
But llama at the barbershop,
Annoys the noble me.
Still clean the floors and dust the shelves
And smile and laugh and grin.
My sarcasm always slips the grip
Of silly, little chap.
So, llama of the barbershop
Ends up in my trap.
And at night when I come home,
And turn into a cook,
I think of juicy llama-meat,
And toss it in my soup.