VARIATIONS ON A THEME BY OVID by Daniella Toosie-Watson
Like any other reasonable children who want to play
with their small goat but don’t know how to explain
their games because they don’t know enough goat words,
my brother and I strap on skateboard helmets
and take turns headbutting with Roger.
What else did she expect us to do?
I’m not saying my mom’s the devil when she’s angry,
but I’ve seen a goat: I gallop towards Roger with unfamiliar legs,
losing human form with each strike. I know horns
when I see them. No one will recognize me.
I’ll look nothing like my mom.