Chupacabra
The morning sky was dawning red.
We rose for work, we saw the tracks,
And all our goats were dead.
We grabbed the guns reserved for sport
And Uncle Henry brought the axe.
The morning sky was dawning red.
Out in the field, a savage snort.
The hay was rustling in the stacks
And all our goats were dead.
A flash of spines. Our guns’ report
Consumed the air with booming cracks.
The morning sky was dawning red.
In sanguine haste, we fired short.
The sucker fled from our attacks,
And all our goats were dead.
We gave no chase. Abort, abort.
We bore no trophy on our backs.
The morning sky was dawning red,
And all our goats were dead.
YOU ARE READING
Monsters
PoesiaA series of poems of different styles, united by the theme of monsters. The first ten were my entry into the 2012 Attys. Audio performances can be found at the link below: http://soundcloud.com/jonnycastoardern/sets/monsters/
