Pallid putti

Pigs' heads among the pralines (via Arbroath):

I am reminded of a Christopher Reid poem that I will have to type in from memory:

H. Vernon

The butcher, tired of his bloody work
has made a metaphysical joke:

Five pigs’ heads on a marble counter
leer lopsidedly out of the window

and scare away the passers-by.
The vision is far too heavenly.

With ears like wings, these pallid putti
— hideous symbols of eternal beauty —

relax on parsley and smirk about
their newly disembodied state.

A van draws up outside. The butcher
opens his glass door like St. Peter

as angels heave in flanks of pork
that are strung with ribs like enormous harps.

-- Christopher Reid