Pig on a Spit
Walking down York Avenue,
A very urban block,
An odor had my senses piqued
And then I saw, in shock,
In front of a local restaurant
A pig turned on a spit.
With juices dripping down, it somehow
Didn’t seem to fit.
It’s not a sight I’ve ever seen,
Right out there on the street,
And though I’m sure that some would be
Excited by that meat,
To me, it registered as just
Another strange surprise,
For such anomalies are part
Of New York City’s guise.
I hope that those who feast on this,
A fresh-cooked Easter ham,
Are not as bothered by this
Street-side cookout as I am.
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