Ruth Walters


Little Pig - Poem by Ruth Walters

He said he could not stand her accent,
her giggle was just like a drill
and would she refrain from her droning,
her chatter was making him ill.

She looked at him sweetly and smiled,
tipped up the soup in his lap
and just as the waiter came over
the restaurant all started to clap.

Then she told him his suit was quite aging,
his trousers were tight at the crotch,
his foul breath had melted the candles,
and he'd hands like a navvy, too rough.

The little pigs face went quite grey then,
his ego had shrivelled and gone,
so he got up and ran as little pigs can
and went wee, wee, wee,all the way home.

Topic(s) of this poem: humour


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Poem Submitted: Saturday, April 21, 2018



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