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

 

Window Dressing

 

 

There is much window dressing

All year round:

In store windows and in Parliament-

By persons renown.

 

I recall going into Bridgetown

With my dad and my siblings

And viewing the Christmas showcases

And this was so exciting. 

 

It cost my dad nothing more

Than a pack of nuts and bus fare

And while we stared at the show window,

No police appeared.

 

 

 

If that went over your head

It means you are quite young,

I am talking about back in the 60’s decade

When you were not around.

 

We seldom got what we saw

But we anticipated the tour

Though as we got older and better off

We did it no more.

 

You see, it held no more appeal

As it did when we were kids

And so, when we became young adults,

Other things did.

 

However, I must confess

Window dressing has returned

Though it’s not the window dressing

For which I once yearned. 

 

It’s not the store windows

But behind Parliament walls

Where MPs paint wonderful pictures

That have us enthralled.

 

Pictures about projects

That never get off the ground

But year after year they get recycled

Like a merry-go-round.

 

Window dressing of the kind

To attract investment

Like the recent legislation to encourage

Free regional movement.

 

  

 

Our west coast and south coast

Are strewn with hotels

And the picture of these coasts shows

Our country is well.

 

 

 

But while seeing is believing

All that glitters is not gold

And all this window dressing is doing

Is creating debt untold.

 

Window dressing in the form

Of importing experts galore

But the myriad of perennial problems

Still vexing us sore.

 

Borrowing to window dress

To prop up foreign reserves

Making the country appear wealthy:

Apparent future preserved.

 

Yes, a healthy environment

But a people grossly sick

Forcing them that are disenfranchised

To be economically slick.

 

Reimagining and reinventing

Window dressing décor

But nothing’s really getting any better

For our indigent poor.

 

Other than window dressing

That smacks of welfarism

That only generates more and more

Social rheumatism. 

 

The facility to climb

The proverbial ladder of success

Appears to be targeting a select few

Leaving most in a mess.

 

 

 

The country of opportunity!

A great window dressing ad

But beyond the window dressing façade

Things are really bad.

 

A renown Prime Minister

Respected worldwide

But the Republic she presides over

Experiences a great divide.

 

Between the rich and the poor

There is mighty wide gap

And often the token assistance given

Is more like a slap.

 

 

Like the window dressing

Of that $300 amount

That in the blink of an eye disappeared

From the poor’s account.

 

Absolutely no trickle down

Reaches the vulnerably poor

While the window dressing politicians

Get more and more.

 

The MPs dress up the window

And invite the poor to look

But these recycled manifesto promises

Produce only a book.

 

 

 

A book for posterity

Given to the poor for free:

“A Window Dressing Guide for Politicians”

Added to a sparse library.

 

A world of window dressers

Politicians have become,

Showcasing their promises to all

But only benefitting some.

 

Yet they are convincing

And for them we vote

Lured by another window dressing:

A politician’s master stroke.

 

Stewart Russell © October 19, 2025