based on the painting “Prince Pig and The Second Sister” by Paula Rego
my hooves meant nothing
to her. She sat in my lap and stroked my chest
as if she was the
prince. It took everything in her power to reassure me
that I wouldn’t be slaughtered in the morning, but she looked
past me – an empty
gaze. Come dinnertime tomorrow I would sit on a platter and
she would feed off of me with an apple stuffed in my mouth
and a knife in
my shoulder. On some level, I cannot blame her – her hair is
caught between my hooves when we make love, and my grunting
keeps her up at night. She is worthy of soft fur
and slender fingers. I am desired, but only until I am fat enough to eat.
Her legs tighten on my hips but she is cold, like the chamber where
my blood will drain.
Sep 8, 2015
Sep 8, 2015 at 12:36 AM UTC
based on the painting “Prince Pig and The Second Sister” by Paula Rego
my hooves meant nothing
to her. She sat in my lap and stroked my chest
as if she was the
prince. It took everything in her power to reassure me
that I wouldn’t be slaughtered in the morning, but she looked
past me – an empty
gaze. Come dinnertime tomorrow I would sit on a platter and
she would feed off of me with an apple stuffed in my mouth
and a knife in
my shoulder. On some level, I cannot blame her – her hair is
caught between my hooves when we make love, and my grunting
keeps her up at night. She is worthy of soft fur
and slender fingers. I am desired, but only until I am fat enough to eat.
Her legs tighten on my hips but she is cold, like the chamber where
my blood will drain.
Request permission to use this poem