The Hog

This is an attempt of writing a lipogram for the first time. I deliberately chose a subject that is not beautiful. It’s filthy. Because why must poems adhere to standards of beauty? Let some filth infiltrate it because it is as much a part of us as beauty. Whether intentionally or not, this sounds like a children’s poem.

Image used for representation

The hog moves through the bog,
A slob who won’t hop.
Nods for food dropping from mops.

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Dons a rose-colored frock,
Robbing the rot of the rooster drops.

It doesn’t stop at rotting odds,
Sobs for bod that rots.