flying things

Flying things

 

I once saw a flying pig

there was a hard wind blowing from the east.

over the bay of Cascais

The wind slackened and dropped the pig

that was alive and swimming ashore

alas, where men with knives waited.

Every café was serving pork in all its form

a pig is versatile for human consumption.

Can`t say the same for my little donkey

on the terrace, it costs me a fortune in carrots

but it has sweet-smelling droppings which

I dry and sell to rose lovers.

◄ ploughing

meteorology ►

Comments

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Hazel ettridge

Tue 5th Mar 2019 10:52

Love your recent poems. Sweet and sour.

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