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February 2007

February: Pigs

Gallery

Columns

  • Healthy Green Artists:
    Spring Cleaning in the Studio
  • Wombat Droppings:
    Art, Escapism, and Despair
  • Behind the Art:
    Folds and Fabric in Art
  • Myths and Symbols:
    A Gift from the Netherworld
  • EMG News:
    News for February!

    Features

  • Huggable Art: A Plushie Tutorial
  • Dragon Thrall: A Rambling Walkthrough

    Fiction

  • Fiction: The Three Little Pigs: Memoirs of a Misunderstood Wolf
  • Fiction: Piglet
  • Fiction: The Day the Pigs Invaded

    Reviews

  • Movie: The Host
  • Movie: Sinking of Japan
  • Movie: Pathfinder
  • Movie: Silk
  • Movie: Pan’s Labyrinth


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  • The Day the Pigs Invaded
    by Shannon Wolff

    I came home from work and opened my front door,
    Only to find pigs everywhere, on the ceiling, walls, and floor.

    No less then ten I spied, happy as could be,
    Sacked out on my couch, watching swine time TV.
    In my easy chair I found another old porker,
    Quite content reading a copy of The New Yorker.

    Another little one I saw playing in the hall,
    Cheerfully drawing pigs in blankets all over my wall.
    On to the dinning room, but no surprises within,
    Pigs sat stuffing themselves silly, eating from plates made of tin.

    I walked to the kitchen, hoping to find a way to make the pigs scram,
    And found the frig cleaned out, except for the bacon and ham.
    Opening the phone book, I dialed every pest control number I could find,
    But they all laughed at me, leaving me in a real bind.

    Racing upstairs I feared my wits addled,
    Oh, what had I done to be with these pigs saddled?

    I'd planned to walk right past my den,
    But, out of the corner of my eye, saw swine playing cards within.
    In my bathroom I found still no relief,
    Just pigs taking a mud bath and brushing their teeth.

    Screaming I ran for my bedroom, hoping it would be my sanctuary
    Yet the scene I found made me want to cry like a canary.
    One pig told a story that made at least twenty snore,
    Making clear to me, he was a real boar.

    My spare bedroom wasn't the slightest bit better,
    There I found pigs raiding the closet and one trying on a sweater.
    I even found one napping in my linen closet,
    It was a piggy invasion, and I don't know what caused it.

    Running out of rooms in which to seek seclusion,
    I did the only thing I could; I hoped it was all a delusion.

    I didn't have long to wonder about my mental well-being,
    Not long at all to question if there really where pigs I was seeing.
    Angry oinking downstairs soon commanded my attention,
    Back in the living room the scene was now full of tension.

    Near as I could tell one pig was hogging the remote,
    While the others complained, he could only gloat.
    The others wanted to see Squeal of Fortune, their favorite show,
    I could only stare as the pigs continued their row.

    I tried bargaining with the pigs, asking for their removal
    But they only laughed and oinked at me with disapproval
    Confused, dismayed, and clearly out numbered,
    I headed back upstairs, to my bedroom, where the pigs still slumbered.

    Lying on my bed I thought how I'd best just call it a day,
    Hoping when I woke up in the morning the pigs will have gone away.

    ,

    Shannon Wolff was born in Alaska and grew up in a little town called North Pole. This fact has lead every one of her relatives not familiar with Alaska, and complete strangers, to ask if she knows Santa Claus. She now resides in Cartersville, Georgia and is having mixed results with informing her new neighbors about her previous residence.
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