Well Disciplined Pigs


we’ll play by their rules,

with frayed remains we’ll recount

lost moments scattering our

coils beneath the landfill


but we revert spoiled Children

with too many playthings


Greedy soil

Beneath the fingertips

Tapping the cutlery


Green deposits of strength

These calcified pockets

Of plaque and ambition


The change in my pocket

Jives to their beet

Cracks along the piggy bank

of my youth



Reprimanded again

For rolling

In the slop

Of their decay


Those long pork tongues forked in those

Less than gentlemanly

Cannibalistic tendencies

Charlotte’s custard

Hardens at room temperature

Inelastic and clouded

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