Quite Intelligent Pigs (mark 2)

I remember when Carmel,
my wife's pet pig,
showed great ingenuity
in digging a tunnel
to break out of her pen.
She even found the house key
that was hidden
beneath the plant pot.
I spotted her trying to snuffle
past the bouncer
at The Barony Pub.
She'd ransacked our trot-in-wardrobe:
got trussed up in an Ascot hat,
two pairs of heels,
smelling of Gaultier and swill.

After my wife left me,
I couldn't bear to keep Carmel.
They learn to mimic their owners
and the memories were too painful.
So I hung her from the gambrel, split
from neck to belly like an unzipped jacket,
dripping into a bucket,
singing badly about the way it hurt.
I sold her at Tavistock market
' chitterlings, chaps,
loin chops, the lot '
but I still can't shake the memory
of my wife's barrow expression
after I caught her, trough-deep,
in a shepherd's crotch.