Porkopolis

The Three Big Pigs

• With money’s vain and silly reach,
• they bought a brand new Suburban,
• parked it neatly in an urban nest,
• killed the weeds, barked the lawn, and went
• shopping for emus and pot–belly pigs.
• “They’re trainable and couth
• expressions of bourgeoisie,”
• said bibles of their country club.
• Now, Mother Nature intervened.
• You pack three unschooled pigs
• in the back seat, stop for lunch to
• fill up the hump, pat their heads,
• and lock the car — then you learn.
• As a common crow does in the middle
• of an eagle’s hungry path.
• Swoop, swat, gulp — nothing but feathers left
• in a pillowcase of threadbare clouds.
•  
• Idiot number one put pig number one
• on a leash and thought it would hold —
• rather the same as tying down
• a cyclone with a rope of pearls.
• The pigs weren’t grown, but they knew their mud
• and obedience class was a children’s book
• with milkshake madness in its lap.
• While the second pig slept,
• the third was dreaming up his exit plan —
• a freedom burst through a nose of glass
• the way all beasts return to their feral states.
• With dignity and a humongous mess.
• Slivers were stupid evidence
• of carnal’s smugness at its finest
• meeting fateful’s thorny throne.
• Like Ahab in the mouths of whales,
• their wallets weren’t prepared
• for the manner in which oink oink wins.
• Garnering these “inside pets”
• was like fishing for trout and
• hooking the jaws of Moby Dick.
• It makes a funnier poem
• since it wasn’t our car.