Goat

Hoofed culler of things ignored,
pointy-bearded opportunist,
bedroom-eyed, steel-jawed hoverer on land,

you charm and chump
with your yellow iris, remorselessness
unflinching as a pitchfork among hay,

bailing piles upon piles over a shoulder.
There's a feast wherever you forage,
no lawn for long wherever you live;

you are blamed for lack, the cause of all corrosion.
We leave our gardens unattended, our backs
to both your province and your teeth,

our pant legs at your feet.
The bulk of you is not your horns;
your sum is in your hunger.

Copyright © 2008 C.J. Sage All rights reserved
from Cave Wall
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission