The blue bits of bacon
frothing with lubricated spit
found their way to the mouth
after the veins had split,
suckling hog hinds like fried chicken
on a Popsicle stick.
An intake of egg
fornicating
baked bread spotted blue.
The crisp delight
of snagging chunks
of animal fat
sizzling still
from a Palm Olive pan
into a cave of darkness,
a wet warmth,
a new home.
Blue swine
sat by the window
watching its brother's fate,
sinking hooves slowly
indent the ground
two by two they track mud
without realizing
human intuition.
Steadily hunted
for table dressings,
addition to the hips,
paper weight of the stomach,
mincing bones
like grits
with butter.
Smiling at the blue pigs,
snaggle tooth goodbyes
are the axe that falls
sure as mothers' nurturing,
sure as the squeal that follows.
"You'll never know how useful you are,"
the tail unravels as
the blue speckled fur is replaced with red.
Honorable mention
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