While driving by the "Found your goat" sign, I was amused to see that right below it was a "Lost Goat" sign. I do hope these folks meet up.
Animals roaming our streets is nothing new in this small town. In the ten years I've lived here, we've had a bull running through the downtown area (and no, we were not trying to recreate seaside version of the Running of the Bulls), I've seen my neighbor's sheep roaming his front yard and driveway, and once, a cockatiel landed in my backyard. My neighbor said, "I guess he flew here because you have a sign on your gate that reads 'Backyard Wildlife Sanctuary.'" Smart bird.
Poem of the Day by Martha Silano from VALPARAISO POETRY REVIEW --
Visit her website at: http://www.marthasilano.com/
NO REFUNDS, NO EXCHANGES
Across the yard, despite a fierce unrest,
I can’t help noticing the smudged chin
of an English sparrow, ululations
of cedar waxwings, robins slick
in the sloppy rain. If there were footprints,
they would be cloven. If this were an orchard,
it would smell of fingerlings, marimbas
and timpani, the polished floors
of my twenties & thirties. Not many hearts
have lifted like swallows to the cliffs
above Pomme de Terre lake, not many
have lived much closer than five doors down
from God. And yet I’m no girdle
on this galaxy’s expanding waistline,
and yet I’ve no sacred cows worth swimming
to the South China Sea and back for.
Each morning the silent coyotes
disappear behind my window’s dusty slats
just as an all-night cat in heat slips a paw
through her little cat door. My morning coffee
tastes of the earth, a cell or two of every creature
who’s padded or paddled, crept or crawled,
slithered or swam, who’s foisted a pincer
on an unsuspecting worm. Earwig. Juggler.
Jaguar. Saint. Bombardier riding shotgun
on a leaf held high by an ant.
© by Martha Silano