No, Billy is not goat. Just regular guy with apartment, two cats, couple half dead plants and job calling people up in middle of day to see if they need car insurance.
Only everyone’s got that shit already or (if not) they’re in jail for blowing smoke at rental cop, or passing VP of United States a venereal disease.
Makes you wonder: who’s running country? who’s looking out for kids? who’s checking our milk supply?
True story by way: Most CEO types (like VP) only love parade when they’re out front shouting: HUP Two Three Four! (Funny they always shout HUP 234! instead of something more interesting like HUP TWO POINT SIX NINE or: “Go for the throat men! Our sackcloth is at the cleaners.”)
Anyway, when Billy in charge of car insurance scandal, he goes straight to cameras and falls on his sword. No, not real sword like King Arthur hauled around back before indoor plumbing, just simple 6 inch blue ballpoint pen for signing papers but goddamn hurts like hell when you fall on it.
So now Billy’s got hole in his breast pocket near his broken heart with blue ink stains and his lungs [wheeze wheeze] in middle of night when he wakes up alone gasping for air like salmon in shallow creek bed spawn, all drenched with creek-sweat.
No, Billy is not fish and doesn’t lay eggs. Once though he tried prove he wasn’t chicken when girl said he didn’t have what it takes to charge machine gun nest armed with 6 inch blue sword and yet up green hill he flew, screaming and scaring roosters.
Billy hero. His mother watches sad TV from kitchen doorway and waves small flag; his father sings throat lips hoarse with old anthems. Patriotic fever goes up.
But Billy still alive on back of bunker! He signs his name on concrete with blood that runs through downspouts, fills lakes with red moonlight.
That’s when CEO telegram with book deals and movie offers but problems don’t stop. Nobody minding country. VP still get free pass. Kids still don’t have milk. And in ironic, all of goats (who might make help if Billy ask nicely) gone. Absolute nowhere to be found.
of a large wooden barrel
rolling to you
down a STEEP hill
on a narrow street
your mother inside
your name, her mouth full of pudding
is how I see you
when the morning BARKS me awake
and I, from solitude
bare face, sun baked
streaming with tears
climb from the mask.
They come out of sun stone buildings
their black cake on the ground before us.
Our children have rags for friends
& mossy shoes
to travel to the broken eyed factory.
By my own admission
I squint at their shiny as they pass.
I too want to kill for old men to die surrounded by lap dogs
& richly woven blankets.
Yet: when the horizon takes them
takes them & puts them in a crack of the Earth
crushes them to red sand...
my very last leg is still;
I place only a paper pebble in the widow basket.
Grow Up to be a Sand Man
knob high eye watch
black boot sand man
long gun, gray green steel hat
sun rise stone street
crack crack small noise far
crisp crunch walk walk on by
long gun high
sleep mama Papa gone
bad man Abdul take bread loaf
long gun man stand
head high wheel truck
up up to big gun roof man
kick kick gray tree school yard stick
big noise trouble boom
scream scream Papa gone
car smoke fire black
glass break break brick fall
big roller car small window slit
long long big long gun point
blood man brown face red
barefoot sand shoe fall
bump bump fall on brown ground
door peek quiet speak Fahad brother
mad mad Papa gone with long gun man
sad sad mama sleep with thread blanket
long gun man
wave wave stop go
smoke spit bell sound high
air hand up up Papa gone cry
knob high eye watch
long gun sand man
walk walk on corner walk by
black eye glass see Papa gone mama cry
black talk tongue lip
dog run run
big dry sand man
long gun stand
point point long gun bad man
stand still long gun run man
shirt break red wet hole shovel sand pit
cry mama papa gone
cry mama papa gone
After the war, Mouse returns to his palace by the ocean. In a fit of rage over his humiliation and defeat, he has several of his advisors lashed with thorny branches.
His wrath spent and quivering, Mouse enters a lower portion of the palace where a servant girl lives. At first, the girl cowers but Mouse commands her to stand. He orders her to take Mouse’s closest manservant and flee south. As customary, this must be done without question. Mouse gives the girl a few moments to gather some of her things while the manservant is summoned.
“Jacob,” he says when the manservant arrives, “begin your journey at once. Take this girl and go south before the war follows us here. You have served me well and are free to start your lives anew.”
As he bids them farewell, Mouse leaps forward and bites the girl in the hand. The girl rears back more in surprise than pain but says nothing. In later years, after several retellings of this incident, the legend of the Mongoose is born.
Jacob and the girl leave the palace quickly and take the southern road. Along the way they meet others who are also fleeing south. The smoky smell of unrest is in the air. They band together and the group grows larger.
Before long, bad tidings catch up with them from the north. Fickle Mouse is now hurrying south to catch and punish those who had deserted him. Mouse’s forces are small but well trained and equipped. Although a larger group, the band of refugees has no weapons or training.
They quicken their pace and go only a few more miles before they come to a banana grove. Jacob takes charge and urges everyone to take a stand against Mouse.
Everybody arms themselves with as many bananas as they can carry. When the forces of Mouse appear, they surge forward and use the bananas as clubs and spears. There are no injuries or casualties among Mouse’s forces but the vigor, surprise, and oddity of the attack drives them back. Dispirited, they return to the north. In later history, this conflict is referred to as The Battle of The Bananas.