tonight, in the backyard. They're
falling hard from the sky, like bowling
***** squashing apple pie. They snort
and grunt from a mile, landing on top

of each other in a pig pile. Ma says
I'm mistaken. I say prepare ye, for
some bacon. I took out the frying pan
and turned on the overhead fan. Smoke

will fill this tiled kitchen. But it'll be
finger-lickin’. Men and women will
stop by for a whiff of pig fry. Morning
sun chased the wheel cheese

moon. Bellies swell like hot
air balloons. When life hands you pigs
mountains in size for lunch we will
serve ham sandwiches and fries!