Warthog Heaven

He's the runt
in a litter of seven
on the reservation -
that's Warthog Heaven.
Don't, warns the sign, take
food to your tent.
But hog's intent is to survive.
Meantime, lady blue rinse -
Chicago twang, takes a piece
of fruit mince, some lemon meringue.
Sashaying to her tent -
she lays down weary bones and
sways in her hammock to the tune
of "Gone are the Days".
Meanwhile, runt's hot on the trail, he
sniffs the seductive smells of meringue.
and fruit mince pies.
Straight to Warthog Heaven.
Snuffling at her tent flap -
He crashes inside.
Where she's deep in Savannah, Georgia -
O sweet bird of youth.
There on the table
in all its flummy glory, sits
a piece of mamma's meringue pie.
That he espies with tiny warthog eyes.
Charge! Madam's dozy body spins
round the ropes.
Hog fixes on the pie -
Up soar his hopes.
Madam yells,"O help!
There's a monster in my tent.
One ranger, two, then three
arrive panting at her side.
Warthog grabs the pie, he's hell-bent
on getting by three sets of hairy legs
and one mad as hell Yankee tourist.
He's off! He's out!
It's too tough being a runt.
And grunt is all he does -
Grunt and bear it.
As for the pie and bit o meringue
He's buggered if he'll share it!
Runt's got it tough.
Small's gotta kick all the way up -
All the way up -
To Warthog Heaven.

© Jenny Barnard