Three Goats

I was standing in our shop. The yard was full of trucks coming and going with the excitement of harvest. I walked to the edge of the open shop door and looked out to the south, to the field and the gravel road. There was a man that had crossed the road onto our yard, pushing three goats, black and white towards the shop. I could not see the man's face as his head was angled downward beneath his fedora. After the goats were on their way towards me, the man took his leave. They walked in a tight cluster, the three of them, with baby horns and flitting ears, yellow eyes and noisy hooves. The goats appeared malignant in their curiosity, walking right into the shop where I had been alone with my written thoughts. Standing in the middle of the shop was a table with an open notebook; my notebook containing all my thoughts, dreams, and revelations. I didn't want them to look, but still they sifted through the pages. I backed slowly to the front door of the shop, their unified gaze turning intermittently from the notebook to me. I ran out the front door to the house. I was frantic, trying to lock all the doors to keep them from finding a way into the house. In my panic, I could not shake their gaze as it burned in my mind's eye.

"Three Goats, black and white
Sifting pages in the night.

Six yellow eyes

Locked on their prize.

With baby horns
One mother mourns.

For under guise, still telling lies
Whose father cries?"

Three Goats, black and white,
Breaking in, absent of light.