I found a rainbow
inside you, Mr. Pig,
cutting pieces very thin.
I put a few slices
on white bread
where I could see
the colors better.
Then I ate you—
consumed the rainbow,
turned it into clouds,
like shale, that rain
dust and hair.
The dust is dandruff—
it combusts
through the atmosphere.
Not all is lost
in reentry, Captain Pig,
and I leave you,
as repayment
for your generous gift
of color and light,
a pot of gold
nearly full, this
limited pleasure.
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