American Life in Poetry

Some of us will be eating ham on Easter, and I thought I’d offer you a poem about a champion pig, by Jill Breckenridge, a Minnesotan who has written a series of poems based on that state’s fair.  Her most recent book of poems is “Sometimes” (Nodin Press, 2015).

Pretty Ricky

He’s 1200 pounds of pink pork covered by black

bristles stiff enough to needle and sew with,

Pretty Ricky, all six feet of him spread

out, asleep, no fancy dancer, neither twirler

nor prancer, just eats and sleeps, the biggest

boar at the Fair, oblivious to gawkers, smirkers,

cholesterol, or weight watchers, fat off the hoof,

fat lying flat, good only for breeding and eating,

he won’t even stand to show off all the pork cuts

displayed on the poster behind him: ham, it says,

from the butt, oldest meat of civilized man;

kabobs from the shoulder, roasted on swords

by early Asian nomads; spareribs, sausage,

and bacon from the belly. Pretty Ricky urges

me to swear off pork, but it’s lunchtime and my

stomach wanders off to a foot-long or a brat with

’kraut. I think twice, three times, waffle back

and forth between meat and a veggie wrap, as,

in front of me, many meals stretch out, dozing.