I sit across a pig and his boss.
They ask me to recollect my trauma.
To pin point each of the nervous threads in my memory
that now hold my body under siege,
affirming the paper thinness of my frantic skin.
Weaving clamps around sore throat’s air ducts.
I suppose the invasion left me starving and delirious
because this time, my words brought no sustenance.
So if there’s such a thing as justice
Pigs don’t eat that shit.