Look at those little piggies
going to market, staying at home,
having roast beef, having none,
going wee wee wee all the way home.
Look at them in the back seat,
socks in the boot, toenails dancing
in time to a song about fire engines.
Look at those little piggies growing,
ten hairless sausages with knuckles.
Look at those little piggies,
pink aliens taking over the world.
© Carl Burkitt 2022