It was the stinking pig I raged against
for killing my Grandpa young,
thickening his arteries,
spawning the fatal embolic stroke.
Grandpa loved his rendered lard,
kept near the electric stove top in a
repurposed Best Foods mayonnaise
jar for easy storing.
This he poured warm over white
short-grain rice ’til they glistened
like pearls, studded with black sands
of bacon, then coated
with spoonfuls of powdered Nestles
Quick. Rich in oleic acid, lard is better
than butter, but I couldn’t think to blame
those innocent-eyed cows.