Friday 22 November 2013

#21: Pork

So many pigs and so few excuses.
Michelle wafted the stench of soused chitlings
from her kitchenette
but forgot the string of sausages
that hung thickly round her neck.

'I am wearing them in the name of satire,'
she tried to persuade the sowish cabal
as they pressed into her living room,
dripping with slops. Their grey haunches
pushed her sofa to the wall.

The pigs trampled her coffee table
and pinned her with the black slots of their snouts.
Ham hock, went the cleaver head,
heavy as a bomb.
Ham hock. Ham hock.

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