This summer, I am taking a poetry writing class- 6 weeks, 6 poems. I'm excited for the opportunity to write weekly, to be in a community of writers. I wrote the poem below for the first class. Not very subtle, it expresses my desire and excitement to start something new, to try on a new role.
The Goat
“Race
horses and goats have been befriending each other for centuries. For whatever
reason, the goats seem to have a greatly calming effect on race horses, who are
often extremely temperamental.” –Jill Harness
When he awakes,
the goat knows.
Is it the
sunlight streaming into
the stable? The
smell of May?
He trots out
through the open
paddock door. All
the jockeys’ eyes
on the mares,
no one notices.
He saunters into
the empty post.
Man O’War and Seabiscuit
flank him, curious.
Do they look
down their noses?
Shake their manes?
Stomp their hooves
in puzzled confusion?
The goat ignores
them. His eyes
clear and focused
down the furlong.
He doesn’t hear
the crowd, the
horses, the flies
buzzing his tail.
All he sees--
the track unfolds ahead of him.
Ready to run, the goat leans forward.
John Andrews 6/25/14
The great irony of the day is that the goat never started the race. Today, in the first class, we went around the room discussing everyone's poem. But we ran out of time, and my poem and another person's were shelved for next week. The goat will have to spend the week in the post, pawing at the ground, not quite making it to the finish line for a little while longer. You can't make this stuff up, people.
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