The Goat..... Poem by RIC BASTASA

you remember how it
was a kind of play with
that goat
in the mountain of your
father

the goat chases you
and you run
like a child to avoid
its sharp horns

sometimes however
you confront this dilemma
of horns
and you hold it with your hands
and test your powers as
you begin to twist its neck
or lift it up to the sky
and feel that you are like
Hercules

when the goat cries in pain
you return to your senses
unable to kill the animal
for it is not time yet


for there are reasons for
killing
there is always a ripe time
to get more meat and cook it
well and share it with your friends
on the dining table

for it is all set
the goat must graze and live
only for a time
for its purpose is but
to be food for the master and
his kin

there is no remembering about
how pleasurable it was
when it was alive
how good looking how obedient
how it has pleased your children
in that playful bout of
chase and run
in the mountain of your father.