....pig !
On receiving a book
catelogue from the New York Review of Books recently I
was amazed to see it illustrated, page after page, with
pictures of British Pigs from a recent publication. This
put me in mind of the original versions of The Handstand
when a Dublin reader chastised me:
so, as I had just
found myself in the cul-de-sac of "promises,
promises" I wrote:
- HAPPY AS A PIG IN SHITE
I took a ramble round
and down
To Manor Farm and found
A pig of one type-set... his ham
So mean of meat that only greasy strips
Of bacon must one day hang beside
Delph,on some nondescript grocer's
Shelf. This is not the prize beast
The farmer boasts of, in the least.
A close look enabled me spy four
Trotters printing in the muck ;
Fond pig, belly in the mud,
Ambling along and bearing up
Great tripes!..and they will line
The empty shelf, too, in time,
As long white strips of indecipherable
Wrinkled line, sausage skins!..now slung
In slurry. He wallowed grunting at his pail.
I suddenly noticed his strong curly
Tail, twice corkscrewed and then bent...
His head - beyond his ear flaps like
Two scruffy daps for tiddlers, I saw,
His disc, his nostrils, for scent stuck
In the midden, and eyes quite hidden
In deep folds of puzzled frowns.
He seemed to doze...but, of a sudden
Roused to give great honks of powerful
Things he meant to do...Headlines
In heavy print..... news of his
Unsurpassable size and weight!
A porker of promise - never late!
But, the smell of bacon off him
When money pays will make pans
Sizzle, spit and fires go out. Pay
Small pennies, never pounds. Pay
In empty bottles for return inscribed
With the great value of his hide...
j.braddell,editor.
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