I was
Devi Lockwood
the first guy out of the group of seven young men to actually lose it and marry. 
My best man had left his motorcycle in layaway, a Honda 400. He called it his hog. 

I went to the stockyard to buy a pig. At the bachelor's party we hid it 
in a room. The party came, a good ol' time. Some drink, 

some barbeque. He asked: Where's my hog? I said: It's in that room. 
He fell in love with that pig. We took it to all the bars. 

My best man knew I was staying at the Sheraton. He climbed up 
onto the roof with this pig in a cardboard tube and swung it onto my balcony. 

One of the girls called screaming: Don't throw the pig off the balcony! I woke up 
and put on my wedding suit to take the pig downstairs. I gave it to a guard 

who, it was found, was in cahoots. We put the pig in lockdown. 
Then we ate it. It made little tiny pork chops – so tender. 

The flesh on its back grilled all the way down.  

Devi K. Lockwood is a poet, touring cyclist, and storyteller currently on a year-long cycling trip to collect stories about water and climate change. Follow her travels at: www.onebikeoneyear.wordpress.com.


more by Devi Lockwood:
The Water is Happy to See Us
What I Might Remember Before I Die