My Little Goat

It’s raining still, the clouds glub grey
and we kids are chasing puddles
the skid and skim of clay brown mud
at the end of the road

Mum comes hunting, hair flat and thick
face tight like a gate slammed shut
she’s looking for me, her voice quiet
at the end of the road

She leads me to the goat’s tether
to the carcase ripped bare by dogs
my little pet, my Christmas friend
at the end of the road

I’m running now, the ache inside
bigger than my ribs can hold
blowing out my nose, monsoon bile
at the end of the road

Face down to the blue bedspread
in the cool hum of air-conditioning
my hiccoughs like a drowning cow
at the end of the road

And Mum’s hand on my hair, softly
her words a blur. Like skidded puddles,
my clay brown heart, softly leaking
at the end of the road.

Written For Mindlovemisery’s Sunday Writing Prompt: “At the End of the Road”.

19 thoughts on “My Little Goat

  1. I really enjoyed your take on the prompt. Thanks so much for sharing your thoughts with us.
    I don’t have a link to Mr Linky. When WP changed its format I found it far easier to ask responders to leave a link in the comment section.

    Liked by 1 person

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