Twist and Shout

My arms were extended
My toes pointed far
My two ends grabbed, pulled, and twisted
And I was wrung out

Still turning
Like a holiday BBQ in Eastern Europe
The pig is dead but it keeps being turned
And over
And over.
Over the fire.

I dripped everything out as I twisted
I am now aridly dry
Still being turned
Still being burned.

The towel is wrung so it can be reused
The pig is spun so it can be used
One has potential
The other is dead.

Which one am I?




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