Talking To The Pork

Talking to the pork
At 1am in the empty kitchen
I'm talking to the pork
Thinking here we go again

Unceremoniously slain
Was this fine porcine beast
A sacrifice of sacrilege
For our Sunday dinner feast

Off is the TV, from the football
In the kitchen, no commentary
I'm sombre with the dead beast
Drinking vodka, let me be

No proper marinade
For its prickly pork rind back
Making do with Dinsas Chekov vodka
And a can of Scrumpy Jack

I ask it strange questions 
The most peculiar of things
Was it straight, trans or bi?
Did it dance and did it sing?

I'm talking to the pork
But it's not talking back, of course
I'm talking to dead swine...

I really must think of better ways
To spend my idle time