THE RAM’S HORN
You worry too much, my Lamb,
with your baa-baa's and
curly snub of tail, bent and
huddled between these humbled thighs.
For you are chastised, a Bellwether,
the Orphan of slight appendages,
one shake of head dips the grease,
the other nudges the bullet--
because your scent,
it's just a stench that never ceases.
Your hoof, wonderful and fat,
flattens shoulder, as I rave,
the Quiet Beast, herded away,
so as to never stray.
And how audibly the Shepherd does cringe,
squelching the solvent that sanitizes
the !achoo-achoo!
I puff all over you--
because your touch,
it just isn't what it used to be.
But fret not,
for I do trot-trot,
my Lamb.
April Michelle Bratten is an English major at Minot State University in
Minot, North Dakota. She is also the co-editor of the literary zine Up the
Staircase.
