MISS PIGGY by David Erdos - Poem 15 from THE PEOPLES PRISON

 Poem 15 from THE PEOPLES PRISON

MISS PIGGY


The word pig is misused as it one of the most poised of species;

Intelligent, full of feeling and near noble in farms housed in muck.

Its name should therefore not be invoked in order to describe

 

The repellent, and for those who consume it, its three genius meats

Grant forks luck. But like another word bomb I won’t use, ‘pig’ is all

That remains to contain them: both that plump, pompous part

 

Gangster, and his sneering and sick Monster Moll, whose inner

Ugliness is an ooze, from her ransacked heart to marred reason.

A housed Secretary who’s short minded. I’d happily pull the head

 

Off that bad doll. Bully! You’re blown. Not that any eager mouth

Would go near you. For though in certain lights there are features

That the blind might think were comely, your true deformity stems

 

From your empty hearted cage and blood building, around which

A cold river of your stunning disregard freezes me. You have

Stopped me in my tracks, the mud of which I’d throw at you.

 

You are as unwholesome and as inhuman too, as the germ

Which has uprooted us all, just as you said that you would

Inform on your neighbours, and actually conceived

 

Of an island in which immigrant landfill would shape

The edicts and rules you’d confirm. It has been a bubonic

Year and you have been the sore and the canker.

 

No eyes should prize you, safe in your place, beyond care.

Or, does he screw you, too? As we know, he tries to screw

Everybody. His rapacious cock in your tunnel is stroking

 

A bird that is being blown by hot air. I hate you, it’s true. 

More than I hate anybody. I will even risk the craft

In this poem in order to express that hate forcefully.

 

You deserve no place anywhere as there is no saving grace

To you. You are the reverse of prayer. You’re coronic.

And the danger behind what feels free. You’re our Sarah

 

Palin, you pig. And you betray your race and religion. 

You defile whatever God is in Its quarter and you insult us

All as a whole. And so your bastard hero saves you once more.

 

As you believe your ignorance makes you special.

But it’s you I’d roast, cure, or start frying, as there’d

Be no steam at all. You’ve no soul. If I were the end

 

I’d take you and do us all a fine favour. This isn’t

Political. It’s not pretty. I wonder, can you taste my hate?

 

It’s served cold.

 





David Erdos, December 11th 2020

















For more poems from David Erdos visit The Corona Diaries collection 



David Erdos is an actor, writer, director with over 300 professional credits. He is a published poet, playwright, essayist and illustrator. He has lectured on all disciplines in theatre and film for leading performing arts colleges, schools and universities around the world. His books include EASY VERSES FOR DIFFICULT TIMES, THE SCAR ON THE CLOUD, OIL ON SILVER, NEWS FROM MARS, CHANGING PLACES WITH LIGHT (penniless press) and BYZANTIUM with the photographer Max Reeves. He is a contributing editor for The International Times and maker of documentaries all over the world. David’s work has been acclaimed by many leading figures including Harold Pinter, Heathcote Williams, Alan Moore, Andrew Kotting, Chris Petit and Iain Sinclair in whose recent book THE LAST LONDON, David features. He can be reached at David.erdos@sky.com.

David Erdos





©    David Erdos has asserted his moral rights as author of his work and has full copyright.


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