Pig on a Spit

Walking down York Avenue,

A very urban block,

An odor had my senses piqued

And then I saw, in shock,

 

In front of a local restaurant

A pig turned on a spit.

With juices dripping down, it somehow

Didn’t seem to fit.

 

It’s not a sight I’ve ever seen,

Right out there on the street,

And though I’m sure that some would be

Excited by that meat,

 

To me, it registered as just

Another strange surprise,

For such anomalies are part

Of New York City’s guise.

 

I hope that those who feast on this,

A fresh-cooked Easter ham,

Are not as bothered by this

Street-side cookout as I am.