The Incorrigibles Poem by P K Joy

Among my pets there’s a little pig.
I strain everyday to keep him spick.
After morning bath with water and soap
I powder his body by keeping in my lap.
I feed him bread with honey and milk
And clothe him with a jacket of silk.
I’d stock his lunch and provide him with a cot
And tell him that he shouldn’t stealthily go out.
The pig would obediently nod his little head.
I’d then go away to earn my daily bread.
On my return, I’ll find him wallow in sewage
Or feeding on stench-emitting community garbage.
Some days I see him being chased by stray dog
Or urchins tie him with a rope and speedily drag.
If I punish him, he’d whine and kiss my feet
Seeming to say that his joys are there only in the filth.
However, not giving up, I keep daily trying
To mend him. But the pig does keep on straying!
My mother says “your efforts are surely foolish.
You can’t change the incorrigibles destined to live in rubbish.
Instinct and pedigree of the pig impels his urge
To shun the bed of roses and live in stinking discharge”.
I wish I could prove that my mother is wrong.
Writing off all incorrigibles will be a big wrong.