Poem VI: DADDY’S GOAT MAGIC

All I have do is speak a word

and the goats come running;

I say it again, at a whisper,

and they follow.

The woods grow silent in our wake.

The children aren’t into it.

In fact it seems to them ill-omened

for dad to be communing thus with goats,

with them talking

and into the forest walking.

But dad employs

defensive magic only

to preserve the farm

and keep his boys from harm

nevertheless, it’s no joke:

because these goats

are psychic imperialists.