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The Ghost of a Pig in a Girl’s Body (Concluded)

October 5, 2012

Her girlfriends called her Rose, the shiniest, most pink ever sow
But we all know what befalls pretty pigs in our country now
Just one more number to the farmers that caged her
She was dead before dropping her second litter
The bolt and the knife that slit her
Turned her sweet nature to terror
How she squealed while she swung, strung up upside down
Blood flowing red from pink neck to dirty ground
But even as her former flesh was turned into tasty meat
Her soul flew in search of life she was hoping could be more sweet
The screeching protesting death became screams announcing her birth
So Rose found herself, still pink but utterly changed, back on earth.
Mum felt deathless love, Dad lit a happy cig
Neither saw in their girl the ghost of a pig
But Rose grew to know what she was
And was filled by her sense of loss.
Mum dreaded feeding time; her baby was so ruthless with greed
She couldn’t understand the source of little Rosie’s great need
Her suckling mouth something she grew to resent
Wasn’t her love enough to make her content?
Rose would pat her taut pink tummy
And not think of her poor mummy.


Rose grew to be what we would see as a pretty little girl
Sensitive to the insults that schoolchildren can’t help but hurl
When told she was pretty she just felt skinny
So she’d chomp on, thinking it was mockery
Her arms and face grew plump and strong
But her legs were long and felt wrong
Girls’ teasing grew vicious, ‘cause they were jealous
Boys’ dumb attention grew more of a menace
They wanted to touch her, to lift her, stick fingers into her
Raising disturbing visions of the knife of the butcher
As she fought the boys off, the ones she hurt would call her too tough
But the nasty skinny girls could break her heart and call her bluff
Her proud porcine spirit went into retreat
Ashamed, it felt wrong to want so much to eat
Her desires were kept underground
She dreaded every munching sound
And the body in which she used to take such a joyous pride
Got the blame for her lonely feelings, became something to hide
Rosie’s true sweet nature turned into self hate
She would eat herself sick to try to lose weight
Lived her lonely life in secret
Smelt only hunger and vomit.


Only a pig can know what good it gets from digging its snout
Into the kind of sickly mess most people can do without
For Rose it was her secret passion in life
An obsession deadly cruel as any knife
It seemed that wallowing in mud
Was all that could make her feel good
Nothing in human life gave her any hope
But the certainty of tying her own rope.
She was one of the ‘cool kids’, whose problems set them far apart
Blank eyes concealing the fear and longing trembling in each heart
Proudly defying the fate they expect to swallow them up
Always hoping to grab more than their fair share of each poisonous cup
With a devotion that could seem courageous
Rose plunged into whatever seemed dangerous
Childish scrapes, bruises, cuts and sprains
Soon became tracks and busted veins.
Of course there were times when the happy unhaunted girl appeared
She was loved, but Rosie just laughed, knowing things she did were weird
Scared inside, she always fought to keep control
But it was pig headedness that ruled her soul
It would only take a moment
For the pig to squeal her torment.


Marriage, addiction and a child all appeared in the same year
Nappies neglected for needles and pipes, life for chasing gear
It seemed the only way to make money to score
Was for Rose to submit to becoming a whore
She thought ‘business’ not much worse than
Any sow’s insemination.
Each punter thought himself her special lover,
Squabbles and squalor were bound to take over.
She took it all but thanks to the man she called Mr Useless
They were to lose her lovely child, because of his carelessness
While her parents brought up the kid and hoped she’d clear up her mess
Rose swung again, between fragile promises and bitterness.
Every day brought trouble and disaster
She never listened, everything got past her
For the dreams of a pig she fought
Squealing as each one came to nought.
Though Rose might agree she only deserves to be forsaken
Perhaps the ghost of a pig in a man could save her bacon.
A hog and a sow that don’t fit as human
Could stop pretending to be man and woman
Be happy pigs back in their pink,
Sharing love with each grunt and oink.


From → Poet

  1. Reblogged this on JPF Goodman and commented:

    Might help if I got the title right!


  2. Thanks to and for liking the first half of this poem; sorry your likes got lost in the update! I hope you like the second half too, though it doesn’t fully satisfy me, as the central conceit has given way somewhat to my determination to keep to my deadline. I’ll leave it here for now and move on, but may return to this piece if improvements occur to me, as I do think that, while people must of course take responsibility for their actions, some really are haunted, not by animal spirits perhaps, but by something that leads them to error and misery.


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