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Swine
- Red Hen Press
- Chapter
- Additional Information
64 The Alphabet of Love SWINE I spoke of reality And the joke was on me. . . “Whatever is begotten, born and dies” Sounds far more wise Than the Sunday school Lies they tell to keep you holy The other six days of the week. Think of it this way: You’re a pig in a pen And you know your nights are numbered, But you still oink And boink with the best of them Because your pink skin And your blunt nose Cannot camouflage the fact That you’re nothing more Than a domesticated boar To those around you, No matter what you do. So, it’s probably best To slip in there with the swill And get what you can Before it’s gone; After all, the essence of life— The very self-actualization Which determines our existence— May be nothing more Than the daily box scores And a pile of slop Strewn among the swine. ...