The first little pig, being a long-term vegetarian, was
on learning from the sous-chef that the ravishing flavor of the bean soup
was not unconnected with three hours boiling with bacon, pensive;
“That the Devil has the best tunes is,” he mused,
“well known, but I did not want to have my snout
rubbed in it. And yet….and yet….”
The second little pig, the artist, was
in the gallery excited above all by the paintings –
portraits, self-portraits, all anguished – of the man Bacon.
“Art is the necessary expression of the bitch Life,” he thought,
“but why do his executioner’s eyes follow me
all the way home?”
And the third little pig – well,
he and his lover, sitting that evening by the fireside,
she hemming and he reading aloud about fairy tales, decided
they would not aspire to perfection, being well satisfied in each other,
and would take their chances
with the big, bad Wolf.
The first little pig, being a long-term vegetarian, was
on learning from the sous-chef that the ravishing flavor of the bean soup
was not unconnected with three hours boiling with bacon, pensive;
“That the Devil has the best tunes is,” he mused,
“well known, but I did not want to have my snout
rubbed in it. And yet….and yet….”
The second little pig, the artist, was
in the gallery excited above all by the paintings –
portraits, self-portraits, all anguished – of the man Bacon.
“Art is the necessary expression of the bitch Life,” he thought,
“but why do his executioner’s eyes follow me
all the way home?”
And the third little pig – well,
he and his lover, sitting that evening by the fireside,
she hemming and he reading aloud about fairy tales, decided
they would not aspire to perfection, being well satisfied in each other,
and would take their chances
with the big, bad Wolf.