Mother Peccary is as ugly as my sins
and Adolf Hitler's combined.
Her skin is rough as rusty forks.
Her face is like
a hundred Hollywood character actors
smashed together.
And that nose.. .God got spiteful
with the flesh left over.
And who knows what slops,
what gruesome grunts, went into
the making of those babies.
But ten piglets are willing to wait for beauty.
Add a few years to their pork bellies
and they'll wander the galleries,
adore the adoration, oink their way
through room after room of Madonna
and her golden child.
They'll even front up for fashion shows,
squealing with delight
as juicy models slink on down the catwalk.
I can just imagine them patrolling Venice beach,
declaring, in their affable snout talk,
that "she's a hottie", "she can stash her
flip flops under my sty any time."
But for now it's mother's milk
their tiny mouths desire.
One teat for each
and none for Scarlet Johansson.
John Grey has been published recently in Agni, Worcester Review, South Carolina Review and The Pedestal, with work upcoming in Poetry East and REAL.