Goat

I was surprised to enter the kitchen and find a goat
tethered to the breakfast bar, 

scattering hard pellets of shit with its confused 

hooves. You said it was for milk,

but I think you’re barmy.  I prefer the milk of cows

and anyhow, it’ll have to go, it’s eaten, already this week;

one laptop,

two pairs of fine leather shoes

and a pack of cigarettes.

You don’t get that kind of crap with a milkman.