The Ballad of the Unwilling Pork

Another world hosted a farm

A farm like all others.

This farm was run by one old John

And all his twelve brothers.

This farm was not Old MacDonald’s

It was not old and bleak

Nor was it like the Manor farm:

It was no stale antique.

This farm was all industrial

A farm of the machine

And everywhere one placed his eye

One saw metal that gleaned.

Or rather that is what it was

Perhaps ten years ago

For now, all’s covered in mud dust

With no seen metal glow.

Some might remember the old days

When it was freshly built

But all those new that shall pass by

Know not but all it's silt.

Now this farm was not fond of crops

It was no specialty

Rather upon animal stock

They focused heavily.

From bees to geese to chickens too

And all products bovine

But their greatest export and pride

Were the animals swine.

Their great focus upon this breed

Outrivaled all others

And though it was an omni-farm

They’re known as pig truckers.

The pigs they grew went to become

All products pig and small

And shipped them all across the world

From France to Montreal.

Their bacon sold in nine countries

Their tubs of lard in four

And their pork chops globally sold

In every corner store.

A pig born here, a pig born there,

And pigs slain all around.

And their quality and their speed

Across the world renowned

Now all the pigs were unrestrained

To them it was nature.

None of them ever knew elsewise,

To them it was safer.

No pig here ever saw the sun

Nor did they touch grass blades.

None of them ever knew elsewise,

It had been for decades.

Memories last but a life time,

Tales a generation,

Legends last longer but never

This long from creation.

And thus in ignorance they lived

Never wanting outside,

Until in ignorance they died

Never knowing outside.

Their flesh was broiled, cooked, and baked,

Their juices extracted,

Their skins were turned into leather

And gelatin crafted.

All this took place after their death

And worse during their life

Yet none of them strayed from their path

Destined to meat the knife.

Until one day a sow gave birth

To a special piglet.

Richard, his mother-given name,

Was born in H9 pit.

His human name was one two five

Ten nine and eleven,

Followed then by twenty letters

And the ID seven.

All this was stored upon a tag

On a pin through his ear

For no human hower’ so wise

Could know all these pigs here.

And now his clock had just begun

He had six months for life.

They stuffed him full of all the foods

Such that his flesh would thrive.

By second month he got quite large,

Behaved as others do.

They fed him food of human folk:

He grew and grew and grew.

With room to spare never quite seen

His pen was rather packed.

Yet more than all the grains of sand

Were the corpses high-stacked.

With food enough to feed a war

This farm did operate.

Humans only were their concern,

No loss they tolerate.

And thus one day a man came by,

Dressed in a business suit.

No pig here saw him er’ before,

Yet still none gave pursuit.

None of them cared or gave glances,

That is except Richard,

For he had seen what the man held:

Something he saw flickered.

Going up to the pen fence edge

He stood up high to hear

Just what the man did say to John

But he heard words unclear.

Alas this pig could not speak man,

Nor did he understand.

But language did nobody need

To see the man demand.

John was upset, Richard did see,

And shouting did ensue.

None else in the pen cared they yelled,

Nor did when a punch flew.

John had punched the dark-suited man,

After being laughed at.

John then did run after his act,

Chased now in full combat.

Again Richard alone looked on,

And wondered at the scene

And then he saw, with both men gone,

Something quite far too clean.

He walked over to the small shape

And recognized its light:

The flicker box from the suit man

Who dropped it in his flight.

Alone again with pig thousands

He picked up the light box.

To get himself some breathing space

He moved from the food blocks.

In the back corner of his pen

He looked on at the shape.

He recognized a couple forms:

Lightbulbs, wires, and grapes.

A few others he could make out

And knew they were not real

But representations of things

Shown in their true ideal.

He’d seen such things before on signs

Across the farm and trucks.

He also saw some words on it,

But knew not of their crux.

And now for weeks he studied it

And his surroundings too.

After two months he had learned much,

His human knowledge grew.

After not long he came to learn

About his true nature

And of this farm, and of outside,

And his destined flavour.

He tried to share information

With all his fellow pigs,

But he might of as well have been

Talking to rocks and twigs

And then he had one month to live,

And suddenly he knew

That if he stayed here much longer

He would be dead all through.

A plan he farmed from seed to fruit

And it was quite well formed

But it relied on extra aide

Not found within the horde.

But then one day the day had come

And the pen pigs formed lines.

The butcher’s truck had just arrived

To separate their spines.

Now Richard, he knew what was up,

The others, they did not.

Now Richard, he fought against them,

The others, they did not.

The rest followed the men with food

Up right into the truck

But Richard, he ran all about

Covering them with muck.

“Go get that pig!” he heard one say,

And smiled to himself

For he had planned all his actions

Like a devilish elf.

He let one grab him to be caught

And then he jumped out quick,

This kept the men spread far apart,

It was a nifty trick.

By now all other pigs were bound

Into the death carriage.

Now all the stood twixt him and out

Was getting through passage.

The fence gate was open he saw,

And quickly he did dart

Now the men had to catch him first

Before he did depart.

“If you do not bring him to me,

Instead I’ll have your heart!

He is nothing but a fat pig,

He can not be that smart!”

The man in charge, or so it seemed,

Had yelled this to his men.

But Richard was out of ear shot

Before he yelled again.

Freedom he tasted on his tongue

He never ran before,

And in one moment he was stunned

Running through the main door.

First light stunned him, the sun he knew,

But never had he seen

Such majesty and brilliancy

Nor ever something green.

The grass lands too had shocked his sight,

As he stopped in his tracks.

But full joy gave way to horror

When he saw all the shacks.

The sun shone down upon some grass,

Yes that is fairly true,

But more than not it shone on steel

Glittering all the view.

He’d never seen more than his pen

And thought that was the farm

Yet now he saw more pens than pigs

And this raised his alarm.

A roof shone bright for every pig

He’d ever seen, and more!

But his shock had to end right then

He could not then explore.

“Get him I say, why do you wait?!”

Shouted the man in charge

“You can see he has stopped right there,

His brain must not be large!”

And so he ran through dirty paths

And metal alleyways

Moving more than he ever had

Through all his piggy days

He passed some open pens nearby

And saw into their cage.

All those inside looked up at him

And their cheers fueled his rage.

Human defiance filled him up

As he did make his way.

He ran further away from there

And swore he’d make man pay.

Yet before he could pass five barns

He heard a fateful click.

He felt his heart was pierced all through,

And his body fell quick.

A boom echoed through metal fields,

Yet he did not hear it.

A gun launched a bullet through him

And it had his heart split.

Richard, now dead, fell as a corpse.

Animals fell quiet.

The man had let him get so far

To stop future riot.

And thus his nature was realized:

Despite his pig jailbreak,

He failed to learn one vital part,

The man’s mistake was fake.

They dragged him back into the truck,

And showed him to the live,

At this they squirmed but yet behaved,

As if they could survive.

And off the truck did take them all,

Right up to the butcher,

And made their way to all store shelves,

To go to the cooker.

And though he tried Richard did fail

To save his piggy life,

And ended up on dinner plates

Prepared with a long knife.

A pig may soon escape his truck,

And even may his pen,

Perhaps even escape the farm,

But he’ll come back again.

Maybe against animal will,

But as alive or dead,

He’ll be brought back to the place where

To become feed he’s fed.