• I feast in the company of swine—
    pigs bound to the table by ties and by ‘gentlemanly dues’—
    and yet somehow I feel the least decorous of them
    as a hoof finds its way to the raw canvas of my inner thigh again.
    I contemplate weaponizing cutlery and I’m an inch from it
    but food outweighs perversion—or replaces it—
    and the offending limb withdraws to terrorize elsewhere.
    I am background décor for other vices.
    I fear I’m the only one who can see this
    so I eat.