My mother kept guinea pigs
When I was a little boy
She bred them and sold them
They weren’t furry toys

She’d ask at the grocery store
For the lettuce scraps
The leaves they pulled off
To make the heads look nicer, perhaps

This is what she fed the guinea pigs
And they whistled and chirped in thanks
That and some pellets
And fresh water in their tanks

But my mother was cheap you see
And she started asking for more
For tomatoes that were bruised
Carrots past their “best before”

When I say cheap
I mean really cheap
Soon she was feeding this to us
And we never made a peep

It was like her “win the war” pies
Her salads with their twigs
And the stews we ate
In which gristle and fat were big

My mother kept guinea pigs
When I was a little boy
She bred them and sold them
They weren’t furry toys