BARRY CALLAGHAN
man of letters
MEDIA: POET
The Hatching of Hogg
Hogg came up for air.
Before he was half out of his hole they got him,
lugged hum along the killing floor, yellow lips,
jawing how he was the wrong one. Bearing icons
and tar the headman came and blew him a kiss.
In due accordance with the law they feathered him
and broke his legs. His crown was a dead pig’s tit.
And then, the casting of lots for his limbs.
When he cried out, “Christ-quisling,” they thunder-
clapped him with a two-by-four, roped him up
by the arms between the two trees and nailed
this inscription to his jaw-bone latch:
HERE HANGS THE KING OF THE HATCHING DEAD.