Poetry

The Second Little Pig: A Posthumous Reflection

I’m telling you, it’s all about social mobility.
If he wasn’t such a lying crook he’d never have landed those materials.
I’m sorry but you don’t just stumble across a load of bricks as and when you need them.
Not as though he could’ve bought them either,
he’s as skinny skin skint as I am.
He’s got connections, I’m sure of it.
Pork by name, porkies by nature.
Porque? Because he’s a greedy pig.
It saddens me to think of the poor,
resourceless First Little Pig,
quite literally clutching at straws
before being quite literally wolfed down.
Can’t say we weren’t warned;
some kid had put it through the grapevine that the wolf was coming
but we didn’t believe him,
he was always shouting stuff like that.
Scary stuff it was, take it from me.
Once the First Little Pig was ravished
me and the Third were bricking it,
although in completely different senses of the word.
I guess I woke up and smelled the bacon just as I became it
and all the Third Little Pig has learned is that lies buy you time
The Swine.

Hannah O’Brien