in my neighborhood 
lives a pig

a broad, strong thing
with curves of white porcelain 
and a pink painted snout

each day he moves
hidden in the bushes
or perched on the porch

while countless passers by
admire the trails
of this traveling pig

yesterday spent hidden
behind the thick trunk
of the maple tree on the corner

the day before passed
gazing out on the road
from beneath the porch swing

but today he is gone
packed up or discarded
I do not know

and all that can be said
of this traveling pig
is that the world is let brilliant
without him