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.
