Though their past is murky
everyone loves turkey.
I … wallow in my sty …
never catching ones’ eye.
Now I’m about to pop—
nothing will make me stop—
so head to Fowl County.
First I zip on disguise
so those there won’t get wise.
In the delivery room
the doctors croon and swoon.
My water bursts, it blows,
and I see their eyes glow—
at soft pigskin leather.
The pigskin, on the fly,
they caught … began to cry.
“This place is for the birds!”
(Their hens squawked at these words.)
None seemed to like the joke--
saw yellow! Not a yoke!
Then threw me out the door!
It’s fowl mysticism
(other meat imprisoned)
for Thanksgiving but why?
I HATE it … cannot lie.
Pigs love smiles, attention,
(though we’ve fat retention)
dislike being ignored.
A turkey (down the street)
tripped me, seized my feet.
“You know that you’re a ham--
for Christmas feast?” “I am?”
“It’s foul … how you complain!
Sympathize for those slain
’cause you’re next in line.”
Stories Worth Wiping Your A** With
Whether you're making a deposit at the stank bank, dropping a return at the squat shop, or conducting a brown business meeting, these perfectly timed tales provide the literary fragrance your privacy deserves. F
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