Hog That Thinks He’s Mayor

Down at the Grange, we cast our vote,
And somehow Wilbur won by gloat.
He grunts at bills and vetoes hay,
Demands his feed be served gourmet.
Ma says he’s sharp with zoning laws,
Banned scarecrows–claims they’re full of flaws.
He once declared a “Nap Day Rule,”
Now all town meetings end in drool.
Uncle Jeb tried to run again,
Got mud-slung by a sow and pen.
Granny says he kissed her cheek,
Then raised her taxes by the week.
The preacher tried to bless his term,
But the hog demanded holy perm.
Now Wilbur struts with ribbon pride,
While council grunts and townsfolk hide.
So if your town feels oddly slick,
Check the sty–politics get thick.

Alan Nafzger (editor@bohiney.com)

Last Updated on December 26, 2025 by Alan Nafzger