Those Sheep Look At Me Funny When I Pet Them Poem by John W. McEwers

It's not that this place
is mostly meant for children,
or that the goats spit on people,
or that it smells like a Chipotle urinal.

The way the sheep look at me
unnerves me,

like they know me,
they know where I have been,

Docile eyes staring through me
like a lover.

I pat their head, and they don't flinch.

They don't ask for more.

They seem ok with my limited commitment to the encounter,
and they know I am fascinated by that.

Kate was the same way.

Back off, sheep. I'm not buying another ring.