The Man In Love With A Goat Poem by W.B. Keckler

The man in love with a goat, in bed, will still talk about it.

The man in love with a goat will have the goat's presence there with him in bed, like a ghost, like Helen of Troy.

The man in love with a goat will caress the goat and float the goat through the center of a tire like a sorcery.

A shadow may start a jihad against the sheeted furniture. Then the house of the man in love with a goat will be haunted.

People laugh at haunted houses and they scorn the haunted, but their laughter is ghostly scorn.

The man in love with a goat will trace its shadow on paper. He will trace the shadow of the goat he loves onto a piece of quality paper, and it will become art. It will be haunted with the tracing of one man's hand, the way even the letter A is, the way even the letter Y is, but the letter W will never be. Nor will the letter N ever be successfully haunted.

So saith everyone.

The man in love with a goat, in bed, will stalk the conservatism of the eternal goat, a desire which only nearly eludes him. It is so close to his fingertips like the grasses that blow through his living room. The grasses which took the television last year and, this year, the picture window.