Mule Poem by Jared Carter

Pure white, it was the brothers' pride,
and credo, too;
They won, each time the abbot sighed
it should be glue.

Put out to graze, its hooves unshod,
it hunkered down
Until the farrier, Jean-Claude,
came up from town

Each spring, and trimmed its thickened nails.
It would be young
Again, and prance, and switch its tail.
Hymns would be sung.


First published in Clementine Unbound.