Piggy Bank My dad gave me a pottery piggy bank and showed me how to slot a coin inside and how my pig was grateful and said, "Thank you," with her green-glazed, startled piggy eyes. I filled her up with every penny saved till she was fat and heavy with my love and I was full of pride, for which I craved from Mum and Dad and angels up above. And then the moment came for me to reap the harvest of my frugal loving care for her. My dad said, "She was only cheap, just think of all your money she's got there."             I smashed her with a hammer, happy, smiled.             My cash spilled out, our love destroyed, defiled. John Bevan If you've any comment on this poem, John Bevan would like to hear it.