Goats In My Pen
[poem for April]

open poem
let me enter
breathe and be born

goats have horns
with veins in them
nerve endings, feelings

hair and toe nails, finger nails
no blood in these
unless pulled out
yanked out

pain in poems
some poems soothe

rain in poems
some poems weep

some friends keep
others spoil like milk
sour like milk

smell sour, taste sour
these we outpour down the drain

smelly ram goats
come from Long Island
on the mail boat
in my back yard
tied to a tree

baa baa, for what

bucket of water I provided
overturned with a rope
stretched taut
as a neck in a noose


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
5:27 a.m. 17/april/07