Porkopolis

The Pigfoot Rebellion

• When the hair is carefully trimmed away
• You find in the pig’s forefoot a little hole
• Through which the legion of devils bow in and out.
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• Say they enter on a summer morning,
• Leaving the marks of their tiny claws as six
• Small rings. Then, ‘please the pigs,’
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• As the Saxons say, those trotters flash
• In as fiddle a jig as you who listen
• Candidly will hear from any warm
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• Sly singer in the mud: “Oh the mud is good,
• There’s plenty of good to be found in slops,
• And the best of the good is a beast in shade.
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• They’ll slit my ear and cast me out
• Unfit for human consumption. Bub,
• I’ll follow anyone home who feeds me, yes,
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• And live to a hundred and five or ten.” Oh trim
• The hair from a pig’s forefoot; I’ll show you why
• A poke is best from the inside. And a sty.