Ode to Piggy

January 14, 2011
I woke up in the morning; my dad was in the kitchen.
He handed me a plate with you but it was already bitten.

I hear the pan sizzling with little pops and crackles.
But while this is going on you’re dreaming of clouds and castles.

Oh little piggy you taste good to me.
I swallow some hash browns with a side of you tummy.

You are crunchy and greasy which makes it all the better.
I run after your sister and shout, “I’m gonna get her!”

Your family must be terrified for they are coming too.
But the only thing to eat right now is you, you and you.

The chicken can come in nuggets or maybe a pot pie.
But either way she’s on my plate and I do not lie.

For lunch I munch your buddy’s sandwiched inside two buns
But only a week before they were surrounded by big guns.

I can almost hear a cluck as I bite into my sandwich.
But I have to admit that you’re better than mom’s spinach.

“Moo” says the cow on the farm, but not anymore
Everyone else like you and chicken just think he’s a bore.

She’s smothered in barbeque sauce and cooked until tender.
I can almost see her eyes staring at the main offender.

Steak is delicious and very good.
I’m sure she’d get up and go away but only if he could.

She is barbequed on the grill and sometimes a little too tough.
But she’s in a better place which is much less rough.

The bad steak had mad cow disease
Help her if you please.

Today was like a day I visited the farm
Everything I devoured once lived in a barn.

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