Life Pig
The hams the hocks the oddly delicate
little busy trotters
dug in and pushing forward through the already grunted through
wet stink of what’s been rooted up and chewed and
gobbled down to be shit
out in clumps and dribbles to be again ploughed
through like a harrow back
and forth across the pen for more and still more
scraps shreds fumes bacterial hints of fumes to feed on
so the hunger can keep feeding–
till at last the head lifts up
defiant nostrils pulsing wide
as if to suck in the even bigger pig of sun
which as it eats is glistening
inside the darkest beads and beadlets hanging from
the tip of every bristle on the snout.
Plume: Issue #67 February 2017