A snowy mountain cap within the grass,
as malleable as clay, the lamb
cross-eyed, gazing
at paper wings of a butterfly
suspended in light.
On the opposite side of the range,
the closeness of flanks disrupt any chance
of sleep. The sheep climb
over rusting machinery
To the sound of assembly line bells and tv static.
Wrapped in rainbow blankets,
the sheep decay in their unmarked graves.
Both domesticated followers, victim
to shining shears that snip away wool in clumps
Leaving a rash of pink flesh,
vulnerable and guilty, an empty manger
littered with crushed straw. Heartbreak then
begins to ebb away, eroding
as it always does.
James Bowie High School
12