SWAMP

Kentucky! Fried! Pork!

Chris Gabriél Guzman

POSMEN:
We now turn to our meteorologist Nhoj,
reporting live from the scene of a bizarre
surge storm in Olympian Springs.
He has updates and a message for residents in the area.
(laughing) Looks like Grandpa got stuck in the ham,
he’s fallen and can’t get up!

 [LIVE: Olympian Springs, KY | 3:14 PM EST | NEWTEST CHANNEL 7]

NHOJ:

Thank you, Posmen, and good morning.
It's March 3rd, 1876.
In Olympian Springs, Kentucky, locals are stunned.
Authorities are baffled...

(shaky breath) I...I...as you can see...
The sky is...blue.
Clear.
The sun is...shining.
A breeze...tickles blades of grass.
It's...beautiful out here.
Quite peaceful.
Snowflakes fall-

(stutters) ...Oh my, it's raining hunks of...meat!

Unclean swine is pouring from the heavens
like burning sulfur on Sodom.
Onto this Kentucky crouch farm,
sticking to fences, flags, and tractor wheels.
Demons drown in the soil, screaming blood
across the land in the form of lard.

Thorny briers wear gobs of flesh
like Christmas ornaments.
A grotesque array sinks in the hay yard,
enough to fill a horse wagon,
burying sunflowers and daisies beneath it.
Acid bellies feed on bare flesh,
and we see a few blurry outlines of hogs,
buzzards,
and children
feasting…

Well, it seems like local children are engaging in…
unexpected ways.

UNUSUAL CHILD:
Hey, Mom, it tastes like pork and smells like Grandpa!

NHOJ:
We are experiencing some technical difficul- [STATIC] and also,
a little meat fall, as you can see.
The ribs here spell [CENSORED BY STATE GOVERNMENT].

The truth seems to be stranger than fiction.
Did it fall from the mouths of turkey vultures?
Blood rain?
Spit of moon?
Witches butter?
Is this a low-rent horror flick?
a blood bath p***o,
where nude women in pearls
visit the hunky farmer next door.

Is it supper from above or wrath in disguise?
It seems to be oozing a milky substance,
looks like mutton, feels like lamb,
carnal sin perhaps,
yet I can't place the taste or odor.

Is it the deliverance of pork from slaughterhouses?
Is God returning unclean spirits to unclean citizens?
Is it the remains of lost soldiers from the war,
denied entry through the pearly white gates?
This is reaped rot in the south.

The preacher said there would be signs.
Could this be the revelation the people deserve?
White supremacists spent years
enslaving God’s children
beating, [STATIC], and [CLASSIFIED] them.
This is what they prayed for.
Vengeance is theirs, and they did not
return your violence with violence.
K-K-Kan’t you see America!
It’s time to wake up!

My brothers and sisters!
When the Lord rains meat,
He is not serving dinner,
He is serving repentance!

We report. You decide.
Back to you, Posmen.

POSMEN:
Thank you for…that, Nhoj...
Looks like a meaty morning down south,
served rare, with a side of cuckoo.
(chuckles)
Gotta love live TV…
Am I right?

Coming up next: "A local woman discovers human teeth in her fried pork at KFP…
Meanwhile, a little boy reports seeing a group of ghosts with pointy napkin heads drifting through
the streets."

Stay tuned. We’ll be right back.

Chris Gabriél Guzman is a Dominican-American poet whose work explores themes of faith, beauty, and sin through mythic, cinematic, and experimental language. His debut poetry collection, "In My Garden," is a spiritual and symbolic journey through the botanical splendor of memory, scheduled for release in spring 2026. Instagram: @blondc3