Goat totters on plastic igloo.
Rasty man, rasty. Has dreadlocks.
Taps out a mean tune with cloven hooves,
only he can hear. One testicle hangs low
the other hangs high.
Goat bends thick neck, peers into the dark, cavernous shelter
where goat with no testicles lies quietly,
chewing cud, swallowing cud, regurgitating cud.
The darkest days of winter will soon be an afterthought.
One in igloo is going to a new home,
One on igloo is going to the butcher.
Owner says she can get $3.00 a pound for him.
I want to ask if price includes testicles, hoof, hair, soul.
The soul. I want to know about it.
But I don’t want to cross the spiritual divide, a wide chasm
wider still, on a cold winter day.
So, I stand and ruminate. What about the soul?
How much does a normal goat soul weigh?
How much does the soul of an abnormal goat weigh?
And what does the goat owner do with the soul?
UPS it to heaven or hell?
I suppose it depends on the goat
and the sort of life that it has lived.
Rasty goat and I look eye-to-eye,
Mine blue, his brown with amber slits.
There is a chain-link fence between us
Good soul, bad soul,
This is not a decision I could make.
Next: 14. 1/14/17: Sick Goat