Death came quickly to you,
little pig. Your flesh now spits
and sizzles on glowing coals.
Knowing nothing of foot and mouth
or the fear bred by ministry men,
you died in the hands of your farmer
to take the party’s starring role.
As ash lifts the aroma of charcoal
and laughter, I am dying here. Rotting
from the inside out. Each day less able.
No desire to consume your flesh.
You should have lived, little pig,
I have no need of you.
© Jacqui Thatcher 2015
Ok, I have wrestled endlessly today attempting to turn this into a shape poem and I have a couple of really good scanned versions but absolutely unreadable on the blog! So, I offer you the poem, and an image which is my ‘shape’. The poem responds to the theme of ‘animal’ and I have used some enjambment.
How did everyone else do today? I am looking forward to reading the responses from the 201 bloggers!