Pig Man

My stove top is a scalding
temper; overflowing with
ferocious
boiled steam.

My vision is clouded but
I can still see
egotism dripping out of
his over-sized pores.

Someone gave him the body of
a man to hide in. When we
first kissed, his disguise was concrete, at least.
Now, I can see how heaviness
glazes over him, excreting from
inside out.

He is just a pig, with a
fat, round face and
short,
nothing legs.

He does not know that I know.
But he will.

He will know when stove top steam
becomes serene,

after
I thicken the repulsive cream of
his cowardice,
his fear,
his pretentious stench

and pour
it over his puffed-up
self-admiration, and melt
away his disguise.

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18 thoughts on “Pig Man

  1. Ooh, this is searing. Straight forward, contained for the moment but seething underneath.
    I love the pending “melting/ away his disguise” too, though I am about the least-gruesome
    person you will ever meet. You, Maggie, have many talents of word and thought.
    Thank you, ~ Lily

  2. I spent this evening reading your poems. I could have “liked” nearly everything but what would be the point when I can just tell you that here. I did acknowledge some particular favorites. I am amazed by your unique imagery. Though the subject matter is not uplifting, your ability to convey it certainly is. Thank you for liking and following my work and I definitely will follow yours.

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