romancing the goathead (14)

romancing the goathead

herds of headless goats flock along
samaru’s back roads & byways; ooze an
ephemeral obstruction into the streets of
sabo, stopping traffic until they pass,
fearing nothing & no one save my
friends & i with beer in the belly & the
head of a goat on our breaths

isi ewu, isi ewu make una bringam; i go
chop am.

red tina, her original calabar curves &
giggles hint of seasonings much sweeter
than otasi, of meat much softer than that
rendered by potash or simmered in the
redgold mustiness of palm oil. she
ministers to us with bowl after sizzling
bowl of succulent eyes, tender ears, &
erotic headflesh piled high, burning the
fingers, the mouth; burning a fiery passage
to the groin.

isi ewu, isi ewu make una bringam; i go
chop am.

the soul of a goat assaults my brain
through the nostrils, riding on a chariot of
steam. what sorcery is this?

my ears grow long & pointed, my brow
sprouts horns, my loins covered with a coat
of fur – my feet, cloven & fleet.

& i bolt into the night, loins heavy, my
yellow eyes blazing beacons, seeking out
promises fulfilled behind the curtained
doorways of samaru.

isi ewu, isi ewu make una bringam; i go
chop am.

i awake at drawn in a spare bedroom in a
strange house. i have walked in my sleep
but fear retracing my somnambulant trail.
i dress, leave quietly through an
anonymous back door craving the sobering
effects of a morning walk & a
surreptitious reentry into privacy.

on my way home, i noticed goats grazing
apprehensively, eyeing me from
proletarian beanfields; who bolt & run as
i approach.

how fearful i must seem to them, with last
evening’s beer growling in my belly &
the head of one of their brethren on my breath.

© Joseph McNair;2009