the cloven ones
MARTIN BALLARD
The Sheep and the Goat make quite a fine pair,
Each cloven-footed and wary of bear.
Called out for her actions and laid with the blame
a scapegoat is driven to darkness and shame.
‘Now let’s all be forthright! Let’s all speak the truth!
That goat was a loser since its sad early youth.'
And-
'That show- boating sheep could be on the top shelf
if he'd just stop insisting on being himself
We explain and explain til we're blue in the face
why these cloven-hoofed beasts need to stay in their place!
To the goat they explain why
she makes things so hard,
so hard on herself,
as she sweeps up the shards,
she hangs her head darkly,
then tears up the yard.
Sorely admonished, Just to ‘play the right cards!’
Then they conclude that you must have an itch
for a welt in the hide
‘NOW GO CUT US A SWITCH!’
Oh, you’ll fall into line
for about half a mile
then go off your own way
and get caught in a stile
If it’s misery you want, goat
You’ll get it in piles!
‘Twas for your own good
That we tethered your chain
And ‘twas for your own good
Left you bleating in pain
Gasping for air, making all kind of noise
We can no longer endure
such a rude horn-ed boy
Stop Choking your chain
We’ll have no more of that!
You protest in vain,
stop this ‘rat a tat tat.’
And it did our hearts good
To see you leave in the rain.
Yes.
It did.
It did our hearts good to see you leave in the rain,
Your thin goat head bowing beneath lugubrious spite
like a maple branch buckling under a drift of white snow.
Yes, we needed our horned one to leave in the rain.
Poor scape’d goat
We loved it in vain,
But hark, did he come back,
Should we let him in?
Oh he just wants his toothbrush–
So let’s start up again!
A goat has its uses! We giggle with glee
let’s boil his bones for goat butter tea!
We’ll all take a sip and we’ll all spit it out
that’s what the goat in the family’s about!
Roasted on spits and fed to the poor,
praised in his absence to floral liqueurs.
But when he's around he gets all the blame.
Ravenous rogue, preceded by fame.
And as for you, sheep,
You need a good whack
we can all judge your heart
by your wool that’s so black.
We try to be nice but easy it ain't
Oh recessive genie,
you're far from a saint.
Get back in your bottle!
Stop causing such sin.
Alas, the sheep and the goat will never fit in.
First it's ‘ get out of here!’
then ‘where the f*** have you been?’
Ni’ the sheep nor the goat
‘Twil ever fit in.
Nobody wants them and nobody don't!
They want what they will when they know that they won't!
You find them on hillsides,
They do their own thing
They care not a whit when the workbell doth ring.
Black sheep on the edge of the forest alone,
Close to the wolf and close to the bone.
Sturdy scapegoat to the hinterlands struck,
Alone, terrified, well who gives us fuck?
Cut off their horns so we're all in on the joke!
Burnt offerings require union between flesh and smoke.
So fire up the spit and pile on the blame,
Let's roast the cloven ones over High leaping flames.
And when that succulent meat
starts to fall from the bone
It's tossed to the dogs who protect our sweet home
-Martin Ballard
