parasitic
poached goats
are not for
petting zoos
but that has never
stopped them
before

and of course
there’s cream
in a little hollow
place tucked
so very deep
inside them
(almost like custard I’d wager)

they know
all about
the lobster
and how she prefers
to lay her
eggs in a
tight cluster
all grape-like
on the
underside of the
algal frond

where I dream
that we too
might someday
find cool shelter
from the plastic bits
that rain down from
the tortured sky
the 3-D printers
that spit
out pink toes
and little
baby corn
holders