Its American Independence Day

pig >This poem was written on 4 July 2016 in a new notebook. I purchased from a charity shop. It’s bright pink in colour. Not exactly my shade. lol. This title might be a little misleading. It’s American Independence Day It’s American Independence Day. Meanwhile, here across the pond. In Ipswich in the UK. We have other things to ponder. It’s not the referendum. Although the government is in a mess. No, Ipswich has more important things. In the UK. I must confess. Pigs Yes that’s right, pigs is right. All over town. They came in one night. Today’s schoolchildren screamed with delight. As I saw them writing down alright. About two pigs that were in sight. I was on my way to the Co-op bank. There was no smell, pigs did not rank. As they were made of fibreglass. So that made hygene swell. As no flies were spotted on them. Gaily painted, they were as well. One advertised Trotters Independent traders! Have they come to Ipswich town as well? Drew wife’s money out of the bank. Refreshed myself as well. Paid as I ordered, as memory, is not to swell. Took wife’s money to the garage. To pay for her car as well. Now she has got another one. I mean a car you see. She can now go, where she wants. Without involving me. And according to her. Will make her very happy. And as this page draws to the end. There is no more space for me to say. I hope she can tell herself what to do. As she does to me every day. Only when I’m driving. I really meant to say. The proceeds form the pig event, and there are some 80 odd scattered about town to find. (There is a map) are going towards the local Hospice. <