The Short, Sad Life Of An Unloved Pig
Winston Churchill once said that, pigs make the best pets because, a dog looks up to us, a cat looks down on us, but a pig sees us as an equal! I think that’s not only very true, but also a wonderful quote. We are pig mad in our family, and if it were practical, we would love them as pets. My garden is nowhere near big enough to keep a pig, so I have to make do with a big stuffed one called, Mr Tyler. He is called Mr Tyler because he’s a Ham, (fans of the TV series V, will understand that.) George Clooney and me were both born on 6th May 1961, and he is mad about pigs, too. Wow, I guess there is something to horoscopes after all! Yeah, right! This is my tribute to all pigs, and is dedicated to all those who love them, (and I don’t mean covered in gravy!) Do you have a favourite animal that you would like a poem written about?
The
Short, Sad Life Of An Unloved Pig.
By Amanda Jay Clark.
The day I
found out I was a pig,
Was the proudest day of my life.
I looked forward to raising piglets,
With a great fat sow of a wife.
But my
love was unrequited,
By the porker of my dreams.
She said that my sausage was tiny,
Whatever the heck that means!
She was cruel
in her rejection.
Heartless, and what’s more,
She said I was unlovable.
For a boar I was really a bore.
She said I was
bound for the table,
And she didn’t mean to dine.
She said I’d be served with apple sauce,
All washed down with white wine.
My head, my
ears and my brain,
Will be boiled down into brawn.
I found her words so frightening,
That I fertilised the lawn.
The part of me
that is bacon,
Will be boiled, baked, or fried,
Or even cured in the smoke house,
Though the cure wont save my hide.
Some of me will go oriental,
As sweet and sour balls.
My skin turned into crackling,
And sold on market stalls.
My ribs will
end up on the barbecue,
And my legs served up as a roast.
As for what will happen to my sweetbreads,
Ouch! That’s the bit I fear the most!
Not even my
kidneys are safe.
They’ll be served with the steak of a cow.
She makes it all sound so savage.
That sow is truly a sow!
My belly and
chops will be grilled.
Garnished with gravy and peas.
The thought of being skewered on kebab spikes,
Makes me go weak at the knees.
From my blood,
they will make black pudding.
Then seasoned according to taste,
My hocks will be served with parsley sauce.
Nothing of me goes to waste.
While one man
chews on my trotter,
Another will gnaw on my ham.
Any bits that are left over,
Will be minced up into spam.
I wish that
I’d never met her,
Because if her words are true,
The life of a pig is a sad one,
with not much to look forward too.
And with
Christmas around the corner,
I fear my death will be soon.
No more will I wallow in mud baths,
I’ll be basted in grease by a spoon.
I wish I could
wear a disguise,
So I don’t look so like a pig.
But some things just can’t be camouflaged.
Not even with shoes and a wig.
I want you to know, I’m no coward,
But I wish I were a chicken.
Then again, that wouldn’t save me,
My bones would still get a pickin’
I could learn to growl like a tiger,
Make them think I’m a ferocious beast.
But I don’t think I’d really scare them,
I’d still end up as a feast.
Perhaps I
could move to Israel.
No one eats pig meat there.
But aircraft tickets cost lots of money,
And I can’t afford the fare.
I could masquerade as a heifer,
That might put my mind at ease.
Then again, they’d still shoot me anyway,
Thanks to mad cows disease.
I could steal
a saddle from the stable,
And canter around the paddock.
But my back’s not as strong as a donkeys,
And I’d flounder around like a haddock.
If only I knew
how to swim,
I could paddle my way out to sea.
I could head for a tropical island,
But the farmer would come after me!
If my legs
were only longer,
I could walk upright like a man.
But I’ve heard that lots of men are called pigs,
So I’d still end up frying in the pan.
There’s
no escaping my destiny,
I’m very sad to say.
But if the humans all find me so tasty,
Why can’t my dream sow see me that way?
I learning to
accept the certainty,
That by asking that sow for a date,
I’ve risen way above my station,
And sealed my own piggin’ fate!
The Short, Sad Life Of An Unloved Pig, is protected by copyright, and remains the property of the author, Amanda Jay Clark.
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