for Rob Steenhorst the artist
A hazy morning, wood smoke with blooming flowers in the summer air,
The village wakes to breakfast, and warm chatter about local gossip and the news.
Two loyal subjects, dressed for work, prepare themselves to toil and to bear,
The Royal King of Swine is to be escorted for a walk that he can not refuse.
The Porcine Monarch’s litter is well suited for the ride that he will take,
A large metal tub, which when he sits upon it, feels just like a regal throne,
To be be carried and escorted through the woods, by professionals, make no mistake,
His steadfast constant helpers, who underneath his weight now weave and groan.
His reign has been a long one, and his growth both swift and quick,
Pampered with the best that for his kind and bloodline money could buy.
All adored and waited on him hand and foot to keep him well, and never sick,
Until this day was chosen for his grand final parade, under a watchful sky.
Is it not the way of Heads of State and Royalty to finally fall into decline,
When all their power wanes, and all their faithful hoards begin to tire?
Then off they’re carried to a sand pit, the ending of their lineage and their line,
At dawn,”Long Live The King!” at sunset just some loins, and chops to crackle on the village fire.
May 22, 2011
©2011 all rights reserved
*please see my comment below