It’s probably covered with fleas and ticks and poison ivy, too.
But you could have at least told us how many times we’re allowed to try and get said goat, nasty little farm varmint, milk dripping from ugly hanging teats into the mouths of snorting little baby goats, progeny destined to grow up like that from which they were spawned.
White cells, bandits in the breakdown of self-tolerance, form little mutinies, civil wars in veins, antibodies shredding DNA— life winds down, self lost to self; such cruel intents of proteins deaf to their master in ugly displays of wasting away.
(written for Missy's "Pinky Promise" comp---true story from first grade, 1973)
Surely, there had never been a more hateful woman to teach the children, than Old Mrs. Aalto…..her ruler cracking, smacking against her desk side, to silence murmers, giggles, lest we be cracked ourselves by the dreaded wooden measuring stick.
Surely, our six-year old minds grasped the concept of “Cooties” those imaginary, invisible contagious germs caught from the dirty kids, the socially...