the old pig
head leaning over the low stone wall
asked himself “how had it come to this?”

it had seemed so different back then
back then, he had imagined a life full of love
family love and laughter and happiness
piglets and titties and rolls in the hay
picnics by the pond
excursions to the woods
togetherness tenderness completeness
loving and being loved, being loved

the unwritten law
look unto your family
search out the fodder
defend the sleeping patch
keep the hay fresh
don’t yield to other sows
but keep faithful unto your own

the unwritten law
look unto your family and you shall be rewarded

how had it come to this?
abandoned by his own

he had sacrificed much of life’s freedoms
keeping things together the mother and
the piglets growing up with shelter and tenderness
he had tendered to the many chores around the stye
leaving little time for idle pleasures

the love his sow had once held for him
withered and died…then ago
though he had supported and loved her through
many injuries and wants and needs
defended and succoured and tended to her
so she could reach her own blue skies
and pick her own daisies

yet no more love for the old boar
even though he was still the same pig
she had wanted so much before

and still held her too dear

can they feel the deep tragedy
the looming pit of loss
the big gut squeeze
of something so precious
so huge a blue whale
tossed aside
for a quest hopeless
in minuteness
in comparison

the tragedy
a missing
black hole
of what could
have been

The old pig
waited many moons
unbearable gradual abandonment of shared pleasures
he’s left out evaporating like dew on the farm rails in the morning

the young now burly and boisterous
ready to roam awide
eyes wide

holding on in case she wanted again
but, taunted by the stronger pursuit
of a lesser thing, she is indifferent
to his enduring
to the still-fertile
heart of his love

unable to hold both love
and her daisies together
not her fault
not her fault
she cannot know
how much
or she wouldn’t
have

she could have both
if only she knew
how

heart now heavy with loam
eyes swollen with dry tears
(dry being the most painful kind,
for unshielded it overcomes
far too much)

he ponders
is it all to naught

the ancient farmyard rule
is it all wrong?
or will the truth
be revealed uncloaked
nakedly rapier cruel
icy cold

as he shivers near the gate
awaiting his fate
forgotten by those
he loved
spent twenty moons
supporting

a lonely life awaits now
till his trotters are stilled
for the last time
a wandering lear
without a daughter
without a fool

a nothing
a empty
at a loss

unremarked
unmissed

one shuddering squeal
in the evening air
soon damped

complacent
the airs hug the
blind valley
misted from
the stars
above