I had a poem accepted this weekend. I haven’t signed the contract yet, so I’m not updating my “About Me” page yet but keep watching. (If anyone is reading this…I may be writing into the void and waiting for the void to answer back.)

It feels strange when people tell me they like my poetry. I want to respond like Nelson from The Simpsons, “Ha ha, you have feelings.”

It’s a silly reaction, I know. I wrote the damn thing, so obviously I tapped into those emotions and put them out in public, where people can see them. As someone who doesn’t like being perceived, I am hellbent on running straight into the sunlight.

While I try to figure that out, here’s a pig butcher/chef to ponder. I found him in an antique shop recently and I’m fairly certain he’s haunted. Or maybe he just creeps me out, as these little pig chefs have always creeped me out. Are they cannibals, serving up their fellow pigs? And if so, are they sentient? Look at that little smile. He seems so content, and almost happy, with his choices. Are they making pulled long pork, a.k.a human meat? Are there bodies hanging in a frozen meat locker somewhere?

Why does a pig have a job??? Do they even get paid minimum wage for murder?

WHY DOES HE HAVE HUMAN HANDS?

Discuss among yourselves. I’ll let you all know when/where the poem will be as soon as I know for certain.