06 June 2015


The goat was injured.

A winsome, all white
Or all black, smooth fur.
A head injury
A small swollen spot
Covering the sanguine rush

She died.

We got ready to bury her
Some bones were shattered
Not ours

Cuddling into it her death 
Soon she passed out of memory

It's more peaceful this way,
The goat telephoned to say.