Last week, I ran into Larry, a
pig in shit, and a sand-boy. We ran
off to the circus, with red pennants
waving the world goodbye.
The pig in shit bit the sand-boy
on the shins, and Larry, draining a laugh,
kicked the pig, slipped
and fell into the shit with a grin
fixed like a bayonet.
All was right with the world.
The sand-boy took out a fob
and clocked the pig. Larry, fresh from a Badedas
bath, held back. Then he smacked
the sand-boy with the heel of his hand.
Pig and Larry and sand-boy
rolled in the shit, scuffling and biting
and bristling, striking
noses and poses, bleeding profusely.
It was as hunky as dory. I was happy
to let them get on with it,
folded my fat smile
and headed for the hills with a cloud
of dust I’d picked up some steam with.
We will be married next week,
if we can discover the local clover.