A View Of Ted Hughes (by the pig)
The man stood with his biro poised.
He was paid, they said, as much as three men.
His jutting jaw, thick furrowed eyebrows.
These jotters stand straight out.
His gait and native Yorkshire grit
Seemed to me a bloody cheek.
I was just a dead porker, not yet sliced.
And he wanted his pound of flesh.
He clocked me one with his fist.
It did not seem to bother him,
Smacking my crackling. His kind
Are always coining it with animals.
Even bacon deserves a bit of respect.
That includes bluff, gruff Northern sorts.
This git in the old leather jacket,
How would he like to be soused in hot water?