Hog House Poem

It's 6 a.m.
Something's happening in the hog house

and I'm just 8 years old,
going out to catch that robber by myself.

No robber. It's just the boar Dad
bought last night
doing something.

He looks different now,
his mouth so foamy

my mouth waters. And there, close by,
the old sow standing still.

She's different too--her hams lathered
where he lathers her

with his mouth. Now he up and mounts her
like a saw-horse on a barrel.

Oh, the whole world's tilting
and there's a good smell in the air.

I'm just going to stand and think
about the fact that I'm still 8

and this morning
something's really happening
in the hog house.