in spite of my boyish appearance      i was a mature monster      a regular swine      ready for the hook

chitlins and cracklins      loins to die for!      (and so i did)

o!      how deftly you kill!      how smartly you carve!               with what purpose!

when all was ready      you tied some aromatic herbs with a twine      and laid the bouquet neatly onto my breastbone          i was dressed for the feast      and i was moved      (into the hearth          that is)

you busied yourself around the house          not wanting to let on that the wait was agony          i saw you glance at the timer nervously      as if time was of consequence          as if i cared to be rushed

i on the other          trotter          sang a lovely bubbly song      as i absorbed your flavors
         through mouthfuls of hot grease i sang:

         I hope there will be gravy. I hope there will be gravy. I crave heavy gravy.
         Heavy thick and craving. I crave hope and heavy. Thick hope will and
         gravy. Gravy crave thick hoping. Hope crave heavy thick. Heavy hope and
         craving gravy. Heavy gravy thick thick thick.

then finally      my muscles came apart in loose strands      when you prodded them with a fork
shoulder meat: falling off the bone          crust: nicely caramelized      i was done!
         brought to the table              applauded

he was a tough cookie      you said      but look what a tender pot roast we made of him!