Pig on a stick



on a stick,
spit-roasted beast, butchered for coins
in the village square,
a blessing

the summer god
come the bloom of a lover’s face,
cameras and plastic guns
all shooting

Main Street
in festivity, the crowds fleeting,
heaving the Maypole up
drink sun in,

it sucks
to be a pig, this ritual of being,
and bloodletting, this hacking up
of life.

Picture featured in this post is Über pig. Author – Boudewijn Berends, Source – Flickr License – Attribution 2.0 Generic (CC by 2.0)

This poem wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for the marvellous poem, The Fish by Marianne Moore.



One thought on “Pig on a stick

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