Poor Porky Pig

  

 

This is the narrative

Of poor Porky Pig

Who lived on a small farm

And danced a jig.

 

Nary a day’s work

Had he ever done

But danced his life away

Just having fun.

 

‘Twas the only animal

That never worked,

Farmer must really like him

Or was a jerk.

 

Fowlie gave eggs

And the cow her milk,

The sheep and goats chimed in

Being of similar ilk.

 

 

But Porky Pig

Just ate and ate and ate

Feeling smug and important

And even great.

 

Porky Pig felt

He was the favourite

And he grunted and danced

Out of habit.

 

But Farmer had a plan

Porky didn’t know

For had Porky been aware

His eating would slow.

 

All animals had work

Porky had none

And in his assured ignorance

He had fun.

 

Destiny slaughter house

One day coming soon,

When Porky Pig will be removed

From his miry lagoon.  

 

Unaware of this

He continues to eat on,

Eating throughout each day

Beginning at dawn.

 

 

“Farmer must like me,”

He thinks to himself,

“Given how he takes great care

Of my portly health.”

 

And who would not?

Dear old Porky Pig

For you are an assured investment

Fattening for the kill.

 

Many a table will benefit

From your demise

And your portly flesh will be

A culinary surprise.

 

Enjoy it while it lasts

And do your portly jig

For farmer is only fattening you,

Fattening for the kill.

 

A word to the wise

If you see what I mean

For there is something from this

You and I can glean.

 

There is many a ruse

Fattening us for the kill

But hopefully we are more wise

Than poor Porky Pig.

 

Stewart Russell © May 7, 2026