THIS IS NOT A PIG by Allyson Whipple The head below the counter— you could hollow it out, preserve it, make it a mask. Those muscles the butcher is carving— remember, that is the meat you love. Under the skin you love to touch, there is meat, too. Do you ever think about that when I am naked in your bed, just before your flesh devours mine? The smooth white fat, almost like a rind, that is the same fat beneath my hips, my breasts. Do you ever wonder what animal I am? Do you feel the animal I am when I am on top of you when I am beneath you? This is not a pig anymore it is ham, ribs, pork, breakfast, Christmas dinner, picnic lunch. Take me home turn out the light cook bacon for me in the morning. Gyroscope Review - page 30 !