COMEDY Poem: Hate You, Pig Farm At My Grandmas House, by Rylee Larson

It’s quite disgusting the way
it invades your sinuses. You
cannot help but scrunch your
nose, giving yourself whiplash
in any attempt to reprieve. The
thick scent of lake only adds
to the torment. Dead fish guts and
sun-dried seaweed and Geese crap
all blend together with dense,
still water. Even better is when
a hot breeze sweeps its way through,
gifting you with everything all
at once. So, to the pigs that of
their own accord must eat and
after that must shit, I sadly hate
you. Take no offense, it is afterall
a very surface level hate. I know
next to nothing about you besides
the stench you bring forth on hot
summer days. But because of that
same glaring scent, the passing
of farm fields sends me back to
my grandma’s house. To days
of being pushed into freezing June
water by brothers and burning
marshmallows over the embers of
a dying fire. To wearing my hair in
pigtails and crying because I could
never catch a fish. Reluctantly, thank
you to the pig farm that sits across the
lake from my grandma’s house.

Author: poetryfest

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