and the nanny goats, like fools,

sit with us by the fireplace

and forget that we eat them.

Mom plays with dogs than me

and lays hay beds for cats;

the old bearded sheep envy me

and often snatch my soup and

when I raise my hand mom

wraps my wrist like a wrench

and says they need it too.

Dad knows I loathe the hogs,

I cry whenever I bathe them,

I remind him bending my head

that they would become soiled again;

he affirms they need it too.

But people are outside quivering gnashing

panting dying cursing God chasing humanity

brazenly showing kids what adults hide,

I pray we bring them home

I know they need it too;

mother and father snarl as panthers

that they’re not part of us

that they can’t wear our rags

or lie on our unused mattresses

or cup our dregs and leftovers;

the thunder taunts and torments them,

nobody shows they need it too.