Impromptu Poem: For Pigs

by Luke Otley

I thought I’d get a Mcdonalds breakfast.
I drank a bit too much whiskey
last night
and was feeling sorry
not only for myself
but for the world,
so I thought I’d exacerbate the problem.

I needed some water.
I ran the tap, it came out hot
and rushing.

The sun was fresh
in the sky
like it was still excited
to be there,
and I heard a strange noise.

It’s hard to describe,
off the cuff,
it sounded
it sounded like
help
it sounded like worry
like angst
like grief
it sounded like panic,
and I cocked my ear
one hand still under the tap
still hot.

Over the road there was a truck
big truck
twelve wheeler
which had what looked like crates
on the side.
This was where the noise was coming from.

It was a pig’s truck
and what was inside it was pigs
and what was making those noises were pigs.

Pigs,
the muddied backs,
snouts
fingers
poking through the cracks.

Pigs lookin’ at me.
Pigs calling to me.

I walk over to the truck
I cross the road
in my work boots
shorts and nothing
else,
sleep still
in the corner of my eyes
and I observe this truck.

And as I get close
the sounds
that I could hear from fifty yards back
were getting really loud
I reach up
and there’s a snout
there’s lots of snouts,
ears
poking through the bars
open mouths
small teeth
all the while this deafening
screaming
and I reach up
touch a wet snout
hay, or something stuck
to it.

The truck driver,
who was in the gas station,
crossed the road with an ice cream
he looked pretty proud
of himself
and I,
heading to Mcdonalds
I felt pretty proud of myself too.

But I might not eat the sausage.