I won’t say it was done on the back of an envelope
after a long night on military vodka and fried potatoes,
but you might imagine that.
How else to experiment with the effects of high G
on our brave pilots, one day maybe into space.
We chose a healthy piglet, gave it more spirit than we had ourselves.
We put sensors in vital places, sealed it in its cabin,
its Soyuz if you will, not a shell, though you might imagine that.
We loaded it in the cannon, aimed straight up.
Comrade Azarov came, with his pebbled glasses.
Captain Bogrov fired the starting pistol. How that pig soared!
Shame there was no porthole; so high, so fast he would have seen stars.
We opened up the capsule, once the parachute landed it.
The little fellow squealed as we carried him back, pig hero.