Our cows and fowls are householders

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.