THIS IS NOT A PIG
by Allyson Whipple
The head below the counter—
you could hollow it out, preserve it,
make it a mask.
Those muscles the butcher is carving—
remember, that is the meat you love.
Under the skin you love to touch,
there is meat, too.
Do you ever think about that
when I am naked in your bed,
just before your flesh devours mine?
The smooth white fat, almost
like a rind, that is the same fat beneath
my hips, my breasts.
Do you ever wonder what animal I am?
Do you feel the animal I am
when I am on top of you
when I am beneath you?
This is not a pig anymore
it is ham, ribs, pork,
breakfast, Christmas dinner, picnic lunch.
Take me home
turn out the light
cook bacon for me in the morning.
Gyroscope Review - page 30
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