PIG IN BOOTS J. A. Gaye

Someone bought the boots—

Sabbatha pockets the disposable
Kodak.
A crank and a greasing to
Echo the ambience, a pearled portrait,

And none of us so mighty as to
Make it rain. Make it sty.

We ungods. Unholy—

We fed the animal,
And those of us who smoked did so

Like a chain gang in heat—
The tuftness of it all, the cowlick,

The little art flies
That spattered and feasted on it

Like peppercorns—

And then it rained.
And then we took it up

And made it frown.
We made it scowl—
                                Why?
(licks lips)