I have spent an hour 

lying in the sun 

on Joe Brickle’s farm

waiting for Pedro and Pablo

to fetch Little José

 

with his sickle and scythe

to cut down the high grass

so Pedro and Pablo

can gun their mowers

over the cowlicks.

 

After Joe Brickle died

the grass on his farm 

soared to the sky.

His goats ate it all 

till his son flew home  

 

and trucked all the goats

to the slaughterhouse.

At Sadie’s Cafe in town

old friends of Joe declare

goats bring a good dollar.

 

I have not wasted my time

lying in the sun today.

I’ve been watching

two doves on the ground

walking in circles 

 

waiting for a sparrow 

to land and dance on 

the rungs of the feeder

Joe Brickle hung  

in his Dogwood. 

 

The doves need the seed

the sparrow will scatter.

Joe Brickle named goats 

after prophets in the Bible. 

He might be happy to know

 

that I’ve named the doves 

Pedro and Pablo

and the sparrow 

now landing  

is Little José.

 

 

— Donal Mahoney

Two Honorable Mentions, EOL Poetry Contest 2011-2012