Congealing upon the cold floor.
Oh, lard, we squeal as
We spill over the cool metal clamps of our world,
Our farrowing crate.
We heard all about the master's divine plan
--For us to sow the earth.
More children to bear, to fatten up, and to nurse.
Each day we long for the cool wallow outside
Our narrowing gate.
We saw you eyeing our bellies under the sun.
The sweaty itch crawls up your spine
As we nurse the new, pink piglets.
You stoop down and smile at the swine.
"Master promises us mud and cheese!"
Oink! Oink! lap it up.
Master examines the litter. Mother to Mother:
"The poor runt doesn't stand a chance."
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