In A Pig’s Eye

the email message
read like a tasteless tabloid
headline you’d spy in the grocery store
while waiting
on line

    pigs orgasm for 30 minutes

“What a deal, lucky pig.”
he laughs out loud musing privately over
the useless trivia
“Never see that one on a game show.”

its late
his lady is curled up
asleep in their
he shuts down the email
then closes
the computer for the night

always a sweet lullaby
to experience
the audible stillness
that settles
after the cyber hum
cuts out

lights off
time to hit the rack

he sneaks in under cover of darkness

like always
he wants her
hard not to
he crawls close
and huddles up
like a purring cat
blindly reading her hips, breasts, ass and thighs
with his fingertips
cracking the code of her slumber
teasing her awake

soon those colored
disco lights are
spiking the room

      feels nice

the machinery is
functioning well but
Christ on a cross
it hits him like
a smart bomb striking
a dumb target
with cold and deadly

pigs orgasm for 30 minutes

the image roots into his cortex
blink blinking in his head
like a dimly lit neon sign

pigs… orgasm… for… 30… minutes

a nasty thought
an awkward idea
that won’t stop
as much as he tries
he can’t shake the
squealing intermittent message
some sort of
strange karma
meant for the stockyards of Chicago maybe
but not him

weirdness and guilt
wound his tender psyche
“Could be its time to go vegetarian.”
he seizes the thought and holds on to it
hoping that the bad animals will all just
go away

he flips over
and strokes on
studying the ceiling
Gandhi like
trying to clear his mind
breaking it down to
each and every breath
thinking only of that
which is right in front of him

but there it is
and he is helpless
before it
pigs orgasm for 30 minutes

he washes his weak mind
in the swirling
filthy river of thought
and flows on
his girlfriend
to the inner turmoil that is mounting
and the fact that he is
mutating into some kind of
sexual deviant
with a thing for pigs
as he begins to grapple with the full scale
invasion of the promiscuous critters

his corrupted core zigs and zags in and out of
a patchwork of desperate distractions :
the sound of a plane vibrating the nite
the business appointment tomorrow afternoon and his
general lack of employment
rock videos
hip hop and rap
a new pair of shoes he doesn’t need
Bob Hope’s 100th birthday
the weird weather
mud wrestling
damned filthy pigs
gotta give it to‘em
nothing is quite as good as
even the thought of
trembling for half an hour in
a spastic pleasure coma
or not
the woman next door
and what was her name?
tits big and little
his girlfriend’s tits rubbing up against his chest
nipples hard
and pigs don’t have tits
not like women anyway
but are their cocks really corkscrew?
shit’s getting bad
so he goes for the ace
the trump
the big card to put the brakes
on this bestial insanity :

That’s it!
That’s all she wrote!

his train careens out of control
snorting and speeding dangerously down the track
like an over budget Hollywood movie

he huffs and he puffs
playing hide the sausage
while all the little piggies run roughshod crying
“30 minutes, 30 minutes, 30 minutes…”
all the way home

pigs in blankets
those limp dicks at Enron
the price of bread and how many carbohydrates per slice
Dr. Atkins revolution dead of head wounds
the president select
Florida pigs with chads clinging carelessly to their tense fat bodies
(must remember to vote)
secret service pigs
supreme court pigs
intern pigs on their knees
fire breathing pigs of mass democracy
that studly swine Porky Pig and that lucky Petunia Pig
and thuh thee thuh thee thuh thee thuh thee thuh thee
that’s not all folks!
desperate men chowing down pig cocks on some reality show
a t.v. nation of pimps and whores
stroke, stroke
Piggly Wiggly gettin’ jiggy
and if pigs could fly
librarians gone wild
yeah, yeah, librarians
sexy stacked librarians in lingerie
like Marion
Madame Librarian
working the reference desk

and there it is
it’s happening
the feeling
coming back
just keep rubbing that stick
because where there’s smoke



he surrenders and
does his thing


and he is spent
spilling his pearls
before virtual swine

he pleases his girlfriend
satisfied she falls asleep in his arms

their cat is howling in the hallway
like an abandoned child
upset by their activity
he calls the pet into the bed
and soon
everything is right

he can’t sleep
he has been worked over
by the marauding hogs
his head still
uneasy in the wake

rent’s due
time to do the laundry
no clean underwear

he gets out of bed
fires up the idiot box
surfs awhile
then tricks himself asleep
riding the cheap alpha waves of an

no doubt about it
once again
he has been
finger fucked by the gods

maybe next time

2003 S.A. Griffin

S.A. Griffin is the author of Unborn Again (Phony Lid), A One Legged Man Standing Casually On Hollywood Blvd.
Smoking A Cigarette
(1989, Shelf Life Press), Heaven Is One Long Naked Dance (1993, Rose of Sharon Press),
Twisted Cadillac: A Spoken Word Odyssey (with The Carma Bums, 1996, Sacred Beverage Press) and Co-Editor
of The Outlaw Bible of American Poetry (1999, Thunder’s Mouth Press).

© 2003 Underground Voices