Andrew Travis Poet Free verse

The Sheepmen

Down by the river in the juniper grove, 
An old man in a mushroom using his stove 
Cooks mutton and grain and nail clippings from toes
Pigs feet and macabre munchies assorted of those
     The Sheepmen are lonely, and blue in the head
     They talk with their hands and eat with their legs
          Fuzzy ears and square noses,
          In pictures strike poses,
     Yet eat what they are, and they are all dead

In the city they toil, with foil and broil
Up trouble, then double, when word comes of oil
Fire eats wool as if wool were the Snark
Who rotted away when he stayed after dark
     The Sheepmen are lonely, and blue in the head
     They talk with their hands and eat with their legs
          Fuzzy ears and square noses, 
          In pictures strike poses, 
     Yet eat what they are, and they are all dead

Beside me one sits in languid levity
He whispers inanely, clutching his negligee
I slide down my settle and look for my mettle
I find none, thus leave him a searching unsettled
     The Sheepmen are lonely, and blue in the head
     They talk with their hands and eat with their legs
          Fuzzy ears and square noses, 
          In pictures strike poses, 
     Yet eat what they are, and they are all dead

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