Swine It was an impossible idea That you would ever adore me. For even I acknowledge now, That I would have had to make You do so in the first place. It was a chore, a heavy burden For you to love me. There was no amount of effort That would have resulted In your affection. You were like a pig Who, due to anatomical factors, Could never see the stars. And even if I lifted you At the most precise angle To view the spectacular sight Of the constellations, You needed me to force you To take in the scene. And who’s to say if you would have Appreciated it? Perhaps we were written in the stars. But that doesn’t matter, If you could never see them to begin with.
13
Casey Allen
