The Screaming Sheep

“The orgy is at dawn”

That was the whole text

nothing about what to wear

and would there be

food or should I bring

a sack lunch?

 

*

 

The night before the orgy

I walked my dog

to the stop sign

a cop stopped with me

his face resembling a sunken ear drum

he asked me if I was going

I tugged on my leash

Only if I can bring my dog

 

*

 

On the way to the orgy

I saw my boss already dressed

for work while I was dressed

to paint a wall a blue almost black

she said Really?

I told her

Your shoes are on backwards

We walked up the sidewalk together

Her toes like little Lot’s wives

 

*

 

I forgot to bring my dog to the orgy

Shepherd didn’t seem to mind

Shepherd was the name of my dog

and the guy hosting the orgy

he was wearing three tattoos

one of a snake eating a mouse

a hawk eating a snake

and a grandma eating the hawk

 

*

 

Some sexy people crashed the orgy

by sexing on the couch

we all tried having a good time

but there was nowhere to sit

and the cereal had sat too long in the bowls

 

*

 

At the end of the orgy

Shepherd tried to pull the sun back into place

but burnt his hand

at the hospital the doctor told him

Some things you just can’t have

and, snickering down to his shins,

You have to listen when the cock calls

 

*

 

After I got home from the orgy

I wanted to eat but was full on

the mess of sea-urchin shaped thoughts

I had on the way home

Johnathan Harper now lives, maybe dies, in Syracuse, New York. He edits the magazine The Birds We Piled Loosely. John is goat horn and moose fur climbing up the walls of the poet's stomach. This name is a pseudonym. He doesn't care much for listing his publications, but you can find more work most recently in The Hawai'i Pacific Review, The Queer South, and Small Por[t]ions. He's much more interested in letting each piece stand on its own. To each reader their own poem.

Johnathan Harper