Pigging Out

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