A Pigs Life
A discussion about my time working in a piggery the other day has inspired me to-write this again and share it..
In 1990 in year 10 I sat the School Certificate English exam. The creative writing question had a picture of piglet from Winnie the Pooh hanging upside down from some contraption. Asked to write a piece inspired by said picture I wrote a poem entitled “A Pig’s Life” (I used to fancy myself as a poet and songwriter!) I can’t remember how that poem went but I remember the concept was how a pig’s sole existence is for the purpose of us eating it. I also recall the first and last line and they make the first and last sentence here.
In 2002 when I was actually working in a piggery and understood what a pig actually had done to it in the piggery I rewrote it again with some extra pain for the pig added.
By the way to answer two questions you may have. I got an A and yes I eat pork!
Enjoy.
A PIG’S LIFE
Dark and warm with the eternal drum beating and soothing. The drum beats faster.
Push! What was that? Push! Oh no! Push! I am being pushed. I try and resist, cant, Push! Push! I am sliding, sliding.
Light and cold. There is no drum. Frightening noise is everywhere. Then something wraps around me. It is pink like me. Then I am rising, rising. I see the pink thing that wrapped around me is attached to a massive pink thing which now looks at me with impossibly large eyes.
I realise that I am outside “the mother” and need to join the others near her warmth I wriggle. The big eyed thing does not let me go.
Pain! Oh the pain. My tail is gone. My ears are being cut. My longest teeth are crushed and broken off. I cry.
Then I am back down. I huddle with the others. I am driven to drink from “the mother”. I suck on her warmth and take it into myself. Then I sleep.
My tail hurts, my ears hurt, my teeth hurt. I drink. I sleep. I cry.
Later something in my mind tells me to explore, to dig to run and play. I try but there is nowhere to go. Hard tall things block every direction. I try and jump over but cannot. I sigh. I hurt. I drink and sleep.
The large eyed thing that is pink like me and smells like me but is not me comes again. I remember the pain and try and run but there is nowhere to hide. I squeal and squirm and try and bite, yet I am small. The long thin thing it holds pierces my neck. It is cold, more pain. I am released, I cower. I cry.
Nothing to do nowhere to go, eat and sleep, eat and sleep. There is no room to even play with my brothers and sisters. The big pink thing comes often but does not hurt me again. The light that comes and goes comes and goes.
Then one day when the light is shining the pink thing picks me up again. This time with two of those long gripping things he has instead of feet. He needs two for I am bigger now. I squirm. I kick. Not big enough. I am taken away.
I can smell “the mother”. I try and jump to get back to her. I can’t. I am with others but not the others who came from “the mother.” I am lonely.
Nothing to do and nowhere to play. I eat, I sleep, I cry.
Something else comes with the large eyed pink thing. It is the same shape but not pink. He is brown or yellow or something and his eyes are small. He points his long not feet things and the pink big eyed thing takes some of the others. They do not return. I wonder where they go. Do they get to play and dig and swim? I hope the not pink large eyed thing points at me.
The light that come and goes, comes and goes. I learn it is called the sun. I learn that the pink thing with big eyes is called a man. I learn many things in the weeks since I was taken from the mother. I also forget many things. This box this is my life. Once I had the chance to get out of the box but I stayed. I no longer want the other different coloured man to take me. I try and hide whenever he comes but off course there is nowhere to go.
Eventually the not pink man points at me. The pink man tries to grab me. I bite his fingers. I kick and squeal. I off course cannot run. Then I am out of the box. Then I am out in the light that comes and goes and is called the sun. It is bright. I am put in another box. Hey this is alright. It is smaller and smells different but it is okay. Then a strange rumbling happens and the box is moving. Moving and bouncing. I fall down often. I hurt my knees. I cry. I decide to lie down.
The sun is almost gone when the box stops moving. I get up. The funny coloured man opens our box. Some leave down a slope and into a hole. I don’t move. He hits me with a long stick. It hurts. I move into the hole.
I know straight away this is a terrible place. It smells of blood and death. I try and go back up the hole. I cannot turn around. I sit down. I am hit again. I run and then I am trapped. Something has hold of my neck. Something cold presses to my head. A noise……
Floating. I see my body below. I watch what the men do. I watch until the end. As I decide to leave I wonder. Is this what a pigs life is meant to be, on a butchers hook for all to see?
I cry.
In 1990 in year 10 I sat the School Certificate English exam. The creative writing question had a picture of piglet from Winnie the Pooh hanging upside down from some contraption. Asked to write a piece inspired by said picture I wrote a poem entitled “A Pig’s Life” (I used to fancy myself as a poet and songwriter!) I can’t remember how that poem went but I remember the concept was how a pig’s sole existence is for the purpose of us eating it. I also recall the first and last line and they make the first and last sentence here.
In 2002 when I was actually working in a piggery and understood what a pig actually had done to it in the piggery I rewrote it again with some extra pain for the pig added.
By the way to answer two questions you may have. I got an A and yes I eat pork!
Enjoy.
A PIG’S LIFE
Dark and warm with the eternal drum beating and soothing. The drum beats faster.
Push! What was that? Push! Oh no! Push! I am being pushed. I try and resist, cant, Push! Push! I am sliding, sliding.
Light and cold. There is no drum. Frightening noise is everywhere. Then something wraps around me. It is pink like me. Then I am rising, rising. I see the pink thing that wrapped around me is attached to a massive pink thing which now looks at me with impossibly large eyes.
I realise that I am outside “the mother” and need to join the others near her warmth I wriggle. The big eyed thing does not let me go.
Pain! Oh the pain. My tail is gone. My ears are being cut. My longest teeth are crushed and broken off. I cry.
Then I am back down. I huddle with the others. I am driven to drink from “the mother”. I suck on her warmth and take it into myself. Then I sleep.
My tail hurts, my ears hurt, my teeth hurt. I drink. I sleep. I cry.
Later something in my mind tells me to explore, to dig to run and play. I try but there is nowhere to go. Hard tall things block every direction. I try and jump over but cannot. I sigh. I hurt. I drink and sleep.
The large eyed thing that is pink like me and smells like me but is not me comes again. I remember the pain and try and run but there is nowhere to hide. I squeal and squirm and try and bite, yet I am small. The long thin thing it holds pierces my neck. It is cold, more pain. I am released, I cower. I cry.
Nothing to do nowhere to go, eat and sleep, eat and sleep. There is no room to even play with my brothers and sisters. The big pink thing comes often but does not hurt me again. The light that comes and goes comes and goes.
Then one day when the light is shining the pink thing picks me up again. This time with two of those long gripping things he has instead of feet. He needs two for I am bigger now. I squirm. I kick. Not big enough. I am taken away.
I can smell “the mother”. I try and jump to get back to her. I can’t. I am with others but not the others who came from “the mother.” I am lonely.
Nothing to do and nowhere to play. I eat, I sleep, I cry.
Something else comes with the large eyed pink thing. It is the same shape but not pink. He is brown or yellow or something and his eyes are small. He points his long not feet things and the pink big eyed thing takes some of the others. They do not return. I wonder where they go. Do they get to play and dig and swim? I hope the not pink large eyed thing points at me.
The light that come and goes, comes and goes. I learn it is called the sun. I learn that the pink thing with big eyes is called a man. I learn many things in the weeks since I was taken from the mother. I also forget many things. This box this is my life. Once I had the chance to get out of the box but I stayed. I no longer want the other different coloured man to take me. I try and hide whenever he comes but off course there is nowhere to go.
Eventually the not pink man points at me. The pink man tries to grab me. I bite his fingers. I kick and squeal. I off course cannot run. Then I am out of the box. Then I am out in the light that comes and goes and is called the sun. It is bright. I am put in another box. Hey this is alright. It is smaller and smells different but it is okay. Then a strange rumbling happens and the box is moving. Moving and bouncing. I fall down often. I hurt my knees. I cry. I decide to lie down.
The sun is almost gone when the box stops moving. I get up. The funny coloured man opens our box. Some leave down a slope and into a hole. I don’t move. He hits me with a long stick. It hurts. I move into the hole.
I know straight away this is a terrible place. It smells of blood and death. I try and go back up the hole. I cannot turn around. I sit down. I am hit again. I run and then I am trapped. Something has hold of my neck. Something cold presses to my head. A noise……
Floating. I see my body below. I watch what the men do. I watch until the end. As I decide to leave I wonder. Is this what a pigs life is meant to be, on a butchers hook for all to see?
I cry.
posted by Darren at 9:29 PM
0 comments
