Another Feeling

Once you saw a drove of young pigs 
crossing the highway. One of them 
pulling his body by the front feet, 
the hind legs dragging flat. 
Without thinking, 
you called the Humane Society. 
They came with a net and went for him. 
They were matter of fact, uniformed; 
there were two of them, 
their truck ominous, with a cage. 
He was hiding in the weeds. It was then 
you saw his eyes. He understood. 
He was trembling. 
After they took him, you began to suffer regret. 
Years later, you remember his misfit body 
scrambling to reach the others. 
Even at this moment, your heart 
is going too fast; your hands sweat.

Ruth Stone
    

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