Hog Stew Poem by Kevin Patrick

Lemon in a leather coat, strolled haughtily
With their hipster's tote
Through the wilderness of Loblaws
Rummaging green isles for the freshest fruits
And trendy styles
Eyeing labels with nail polished claws
growing slightly panic because nothings
Marked organic
They hightails it with treacle applause



Little mother earth, with healing crystals
In her purse
Finds remedies from honeybees' brew
Drinks half a pint of charcoal, to detoxify
All her pours
But turns her brain into mushroom Stew
Looks to backroom mystics as a sound board
For her heuristics
She puts her reason to karma accrued


See Mister smug progressive, hype his virtues
to the oppressive
When he's knocking you down on the floor
He's a stickler for debate with his pitchforks
And friendly stakes
Agrees with the mirror that he adores
He Likes to ride a high horse, but he falls off
To the g-force
And crashes like a university bore

There's no use getting worried
When the hangman's in your jury
So when you pay your dues
Have a can of hog stew