The Sweet Spot

They said we could leave the sty
because of our high IQs,
we were just below the monkeys and dolphins
with their playgyms and swimming pools.

They groomed us with hog hair brushes,
as we chomped petit fours from porcelain saucers.
On big buttoned phones, we pinged porcine snouts
back and forth, like moist rose petals.

They said we were no longer pig,
reared for belly and rib –
one day our hearts would give humans
a second chance at love.

All those things we missed –
like sows’ milk and peelings,
cold mud caked in our skin –
would become lost in the edit.

‘til then we could live in the penthouse.