Lady and the Swine
After W. B. Yeats, “Leda and the Swan”
A sudden grab: the Swine’s snout steaming still.
Atop the Lady, her tender ribs suppressed,
He slams her with his practiced brutal skill,
His massive chest a hammer on her breast.
No way can youthful loins and forearms push
Away the formless fat that’s twice her size.
How can the Lady in a blubbery rush
Avoid his pounding belly bacon, thighs?
His bulbous hams and hocks enfolding her,
Tic-Tack breath, the popping eyes and leer
Abuse her dignity.
So screwed up,
So pummeled by the Swine, his brain hot air,
She knows her sisters soon will end his power,
That as the POTUS, this is his last shtup