Goat 'Milk' Poem by James McLain

She fights to remain on her feet,
and you/me known as it over bred.
A certain passion badly placed for cheese or being the best.
I heat the goat's milk on your furnace and
think of the way in which; to frightened
were to go to school for the first time,
how you cried in my arms because you did not know to read.
You thought that you must already know what he should teach you.
The manner we cry;
just' so that we are red with the birth not knowing to live.