MILF Goose: Poems for Frowny Children

higgledy, piggledy
my red hen
can’t turn around
in her tiny pen
we cut off her beak
and crippled her legs
and that’s how we get
our fucking eggs

higgledy, piggledy
my pink hog
is smarter, they say
than the average dog
we lift him to slaughter
with a motorized fork
and that’s how we get
our fucking pork

higgledy, piggledy
my brown cow
is pushed by the blade
of a feed-lot plow
which chucks her across
to humane relief
and that’s how we get
our fucking beef

Higgledy, piggledy
my pure lamb
escaped from the barn
with a battering ram
a real one, his pa,
with a mean attitude
and that’s how we’re got
by our fucking food.

—Don Whittington

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2 thoughts on “MILF Goose: Poems for Frowny Children

  1. One day in grade school my teacher told the class about how different parts of the pig were used to make different products for people. Pig’s meat for pork roast, pig’s fat for bacon and soap, pig’s hair for paint brushes, pig’s bladder for musical instruments, etc. She concluded by saying “We use every part but the squeal.” I thought it odd that there was one part of the pig no one had found a “use” for. A shame all those squeals were going to waste. So at the end of class, I asked the teacher what the squeal was. Then she told me.

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