| Piggy Bank
My dad gave me a pottery piggy bank
and showed me how to slot a coin inside
and how my pig was grateful and said, "Thank
you," with her green-glazed, startled piggy eyes.
I filled her up with every penny saved
till she was fat and heavy with my love
and I was full of pride, for which I craved
from Mum and Dad and angels up above.
And then the moment came for me to reap
the harvest of my frugal loving care
for her. My dad said, "She was only cheap,
just think of all your money she's got there."
I smashed her with a hammer, happy, smiled.
My cash spilled out, our love destroyed, defiled.
If you've any comment on this poem, John Bevan would like to hear it.