Pigging Out Poem by Sheena Blackhall

It sat upon a tray on the trestle table
The pièce de resistance of the meal, the center piece
A wild boar's head, well roasted
An apple in its mouth

Its skin was glazed to a shine with honeyed water
Flanked by herbs and vegetables.
Decked with bay leaves and thyme
A Tudor delicacy,
In a modern regimental dinner

Everyone was in dress uniform, wives attached
As appendages.

My eyes were fixed on the head. It was warrior meat
The Druids believed the wild boar was a sacred animal
That eating its flesh made you
Strong and fierce in battle

Not long ago, this boar was rooting in woodland
Stocky creature with harsh grey bristles
Built like a small tank, free but pugnacious when roused

Surrounded now by 20th century soldiers
It was more of a trophy than food.
You could almost smell the testosterone in the room