Page 43 - Contrast1988Spring

Sonnet: to an Angry Pig

Upon our quiet farm early one mom
Before the morning glories had quite unfurled
A tiny piglet to a sow was born:
It came angry and squealing to this world.

This pig was happiest when in the mud,
Up to his ears in slime all day he'd be;
His angry squeals were fit to curdle blood
When ousted by pigs with seniority.

These big pigs eyed this piglet with contempt
For hogging all the mud--despicable rat!
And so he ate and ate, a vain attempt
To gain acceptance--all he got was fat.

There is no moral to this porcine fable;
That pig looked so good--roasted--on our table.

Maryann Rada

Contrast Spring 1988 39