Chicano Poet

Tuesday, April 04, 2006

The Three Little Pigs In Casablanca

You’ve never seen the Three Little Pigs like this before,
in color, in the background,
next to the piano Sam triggers

with his new found friend.
Their curly tails magnified
against Rick’s big head,

how could that girl love him
in Paris or here in Casablanca?
A pig eats slop from a sock.

Rick tries to outsmart
the balloon Nazis who rise up to the ceiling,
tanks in a pig conversation.

The Three Little Pigs build their houses,
the wolf is dressed in Victor Laszlo clothing,
his fly undone,

the stickhouse made with rosebush thorns.
With an oink oink here
and an oink oink there,

the Vichy government listens at the door.
The echo of a bottle opener
sits rusting on a barstool.


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