Porky Pig and I
Porky Pig and I
would play. Every day.
Enjoying the way we squealed.
Rolling in the mud.
Tails curled tight.
Faces flushed.
Not knowing what is grey.
(Now) our lives, but black and white.
Naked to the sun; to life.
Porky Pig and I
would play. Every day.
Exploring what is world.
Not without pain.
Porky broke his arm one day.
I stared shocked.
Not knowing what to do.
(Now) familiar tears washing my face.
Half-naked to the sun; to life.
Porky Pig and I
would play. Every day.
Those pig-child games had changed.
This putting on size debilitates,
spontaneous thoughts and acts, of days
when rolling in the mud
was all but joy.
(Now) not enough. Needing more.
Hidden to the sun; to life.
Porky Pig and I
would play. Every day.
I miss my carefree friend.
Days me reprimand.
Showing me what’s grey.
Giving me the choice.
“Thank you Bull, for remembering my voice”.
(Now) thanking Him for days, basking
Naked to the sun; to life.
Copyright © Gavin Joachims | Year Posted 2015
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