This Little Piggy

I returned home one day and my roommate has the piggy bank he bought on Olvera St. in LA strewn across the floor. That poor pig. But it’s interesting how a simple scene like that can spur a poem or story. In this case, it was a poem.

Piggy Bank
He slid his

finger
down the cracked
ceramic,
with a lover’s touch,
until the
chipped
pottery bit
back.
The blood
leapt dutifully
from
his
fleash
to what was left
of
the things
he never
quite
forgot.

SAP

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